Fade To White
by Colbie15
Summary: Set after Season 11. Mary Winchester returns to a world she doesn't understand to sons she doesn't really know. And one of them is missing. Can they really become a family again? Spoilers for Season 11 finale. No intentional spoilers for Season 12 though a few teasers may slip through.
1. Chapter 1

_AN: Mary's back, Sam's in trouble and Dean is trying to figure out which way is up. If Fade to Black is a euphemism for dying, then Fade to White is one for living. (In this case, a certain person who's not dead anymore.) Spoilers for the Season 11 finale. There are no specific spoilers for Season 12; however, I may have gleaned a phrase or so from the random interviews I've read. This will be a fairly short 4 or 5 chapter story. I know other writers have tackled this but I hope this puts a different spin on it. Enjoy!_

* * *

 **Chapter 1**

* * *

It had been a long time since Sam Winchester mourned the fact that his life hadn't turned out like it should have. Many years since he thought it unfair that he was raised without a mother, without a home, without a sense of security. Years since he gave up a dream having a normal life. And a handful of years ago, he fully embraced the life of saving people, hunting things.

But Sam began to reconsider all of it when the sun began to shine again and he found himself refusing to be frightened by the gun pointed in his direction.

Dean was supposed to be the reckless one. The older Winchester brother was the one who charged in headfirst. Sam thought of himself as the rationale one. The one who weighed the options. Considered the consequences.

Hmph. That was a joke. Sam knew that he stopped being rationale when Dean began his murderous rampage thanks to the Mark of Cain. He would have gone as far as he took to save him, the world be damned. Except he didn't know that the world would actually be damned.

So instead of Dean being alive with the mark, he was dead. Blown to smithereens with the Darkness. And Sam was sure he was about to die as well. But he couldn't bring himself to care.

He found himself lying on a lumpy mattress with his feet dangling about two inches over the edge. One hand was cuffed to a railing, and his shirtless abdomen revealed a gunshot wound at nearly the same spot where he was shot only months before. The wound was crudely stitched, though he thought that the bullet might still be lodged in his flesh.

That, he supposed, was his fault. He had tried to use his size and some of his brother's swagger to intimidate the intruder. He knew he was being careless, and he didn't care. He saw a flicker of fear in her eyes just before she pulled the trigger.

Sam wasn't sure how long he had been lying there. Days probably. And his wound was infected now. He knew that because even though the room was warm, he shivered. And his whole body ached and his stomach hurt like hell.

Dean would be so disappointed. In only a matter of hours after the elder brother sacrificed himself to save the world, Sam was in trouble again — dropkicked by a Man … make that Woman … of Letters — from an organization he thought was defunct. But some unknown London chapter thought they knew more about what the Winchesters had been through than Sam and Dean themselves.

So maybe the brothers _had_ gone too far to save each other a few times. Sam knew that was true. But he also knew they risked themselves time and again to save the world and the people in it. And Dean died saving it again. If the sun was still shining in the sky, they had his brother to thank for that.

His chest tightened from the grief, and he sucked in a breath in a vain effort to fill his lungs. There would be no saving Dean this time. Even if Sam could figure out a way to put his brother back together, Billie the Reaper had surely thrown him into the "empty" as she vowed. And as Billie put it, nothing comes back from that.

Any thought he had about how to escape this hell hole faded. How many times had he or Dean done something stupid to save the other? And how many times had that loyalty that had for each other caused a catastrophic consequence that they spent the next months — years even — trying to fix?

Maybe it was time to end this vicious cycle. If neither Winchester brother could survive without the other, maybe they should both go out together. Not exactly together, but close enough. Sam thought that maybe that was the only way. Dean was gone, and Sam could feel that he wasn't too far away from death himself.

Another stab of pain cut through his gut and he groaned. Dean would hate that Sam was even considering giving up. _There's no quittin,'_ Sam could hear those words in his brother's voice. Yet he didn't know how to keep fighting now. Praying to Cas wouldn't help. He saw about a half dozen sigils that kept out angels. Even if he found his way back after being banished, Cas wouldn't be able to get to him.

Sam wasn't even sure what the Men of Letters wanted from him. Hadn't he lost everything? Everyone? What else was there to take?

It's true that he almost caused the end of the world by releasing the Darkness. But he paid for that by letting the very person he was desperate to save march to his death with a bomb in his chest.

 _Paid in full_ , he thought bitterly.

Whatever the Men of Letters had planned, he wished they would just get on with it instead of leaving him in this dank room slowly dying.

In a matter of minutes, Sam discovered to be careful for what he wished. Toni whatshername reappeared with a syringe and plunged it into his arm with no explanation. He tried to jerk away, instinctively knowing that it wasn't something to help with the pain or attack the infection that ravaged his body.

"We need to speed this along, Sam. This is just a little something to loosen you up," Toni commented as his eyes followed the needle being pulled from the vein. A flash of light bolted through his brain, followed by intense colors. He felt as though he was floating, but it was anything but relaxing. Sam had the feeling he was about to go on a hell of a trip.

He pried open his eyes, refusing to succumb to whatever Toni was planning for him. When he did, she morphed into only woman he ever really loved. He gasped at the sight of the girl he once wanted to marry before she burned before his eyes on a ceiling. _Jessica._

"What do you see, Sam?" Toni asked in Jessica's voice. His last coherent thought was that he was well and truly screwed.

oOoOoOo

 _ **Two days earlier**_

Castiel eased through the door, craning his neck to listen for any sounds that the bunker was still inhabited. He was determined to be more alert than he was the last time he entered with Sam. He failed to sense the intruder's presence. He failed to notice until it was too late the banishing spell drawn in blood on the wall.

He failed to honor Dean's dying request to watch out for Sam.

Cas had no time to react when he saw the woman standing in the darkened room, her hand dripping blood, before he found himself propelled to the other side of the world from Lebanon, Kansas — a world away from the brother he promised to look after.

He landed in an alley in Hong Kong, unnoticed by the myriad of people, with the exception of one elderly man who merely watched with wide eyes as Cas pushed himself off the ground and brushed off his trench coat. At least he was still on Earth.

The angel gave the man a small bow of the head as if it was a completely normal thing to appear from nowhere. Even with his wild eyes looking at Cas, the man politely bowed back.

When Cas exited the shaded alley, he was overwhelmed by the brightness of the sun that once again reminded him of Dean's sacrifice to save the world. He was hit by a wave of grief that made him stagger. He squeezed his eyes shut to the glare and to the sorrow. He didn't have time to mourn now because Sam was in danger.

With his angel powers reduced, it would take days to get back to the bunker. Having been the victim of a banishing spell before, he knew his sense of time was unreliable. As it was, minutes or hours or days could have passed since he was cast out from the bunker. He could already be too late to help Sam.

It was by accident in a moment of desperation that Cas discovered that being possessed by Lucifer had one very important benefit. In his panic to find Sam, he discovered that he could teleport.

" _Look out for him, okay?"_ Dean had asked him a cemetery in Kansas. " _Don't let him do anything stupid."_ After thinking of Sam and thinking of that moment with Dean, Cas was shocked to find himself back in that cemetery, alone this time. When Amara ripped Lucifer from his vessel, a portion of the archangel's grace must have remained. So he tried teleporting again, and this time landed just outside the Men of Letters bunker.

Without taking time to celebrate this newfound power, Cas pulled out his angel blade. He didn't bother with the door. He appeared inside where he knew he wouldn't be seen. He listened and heard nothing. No voices. No breathing. The air was still, silent and empty. He was alone and he was too late.

Still he cautiously searched the bunker, finding the sigil made of blood dried to a rusty brown on the wall. And on the floor just a few feet away was a small pool of blood. He let out a deep sigh, knowing it had to be Sam's blood.

He pushed back the alarm he felt. It wasn't a lot of blood, and Sam could handle himself against what was probably a human intruder. He tried not to think of the possibility that losing his brother made Sam unwilling to fight back.

He examined the sigil and found a few slight imperfections, for which he was grateful. Had she had done a better job, Cas might have been propelled off this planet completely. Yet, it was good enough to know that she was not a novice at this. Perhaps a hunter? Someone the Winchesters had crossed at some point?

The only other clue Cas found was the case that held the key to the bunker. He tilted his head wondering why it was left here. Sam and Dean kept the original key well-hidden and used other methods to gain entry. The only holders of the key should be the Men of Letters. As far as he knew, it was now a defunct group.

Across the room on the floor, he saw Sam's broken cell phone, which meant he wouldn't be able to track him using GPS.

"Where are you?" Cas called aloud to the empty space. He hoped Sam would pray to him. Ask for help. Anything to let him know of his location. He stood silent and motionless for a moment willing himself to hear Sam's voice.

When his own cell phone rang, it startled him back to the moment. "Yes," he answered it abruptly, not bothering to check the caller id. The voice heard on the other end was the last one he expected to hear.

"Cas."

He froze at the sound of that voice.

"Cas," the caller repeated. "Are your there?"

"Dean?" he choked out. He doubted that his friend would use a cell phone to contact him from the great beyond. That could only mean one thing. Somehow he survived the cataclysmic bomb meant to destroy the darkness.

"Yeah, man," Dean answered. "I've been trying to get in touch …."

Cas could hear the Dean continue to talk as he plunged the phone into his pocket, not bothering to end the call. A moment later, the bunker stood empty.

oOoOoOo

"Cas!" Dean wanted to shout into the damn phone when he got no response. But he didn't want his mom to hear him. The thought sounded crazy even to him. His Mom. Here. Alive. After 30 freaking years — 33 actually, but who was counting. He couldn't wrap his head around it. The problem was neither could she. She was disoriented and confused, and Dean's emotions were all over the place. He just needed some help.

"Cas …," he tried once more only to find silence on the other end.

In frustration, he threw his phone on the bed. It had been a hell of a night. Just a day before, he was preparing a kamikaze attack to destroy Amara and now his dead mother was taking a shower in the hotel bathroom while he tried desperately to get in touch with Sam or Cas.

Dean had accepted that he was going to die — ready to make the sacrifice to save the world. Believing that it was his to make because of his part in releasing the darkness. Relieved it was him and not Sam who had to give his life to save the Earth.

But he had to admit he was grateful that he didn't have to detonate the bomb inside his chest. His life had been one trauma after another, but that didn't mean he wanted to die. And he didn't want to leave Sam alone.

As he talked to Amara, he knew he was the only person who could get through to her. This 'connection' they had could finally lead to something good. He knew what she wanted. He understood the complicated sibling dynamic — had lived it with Sam — and he knew that both Amara and Chuck wanted a different ending to this story.

And he could see that Amara was grateful. But he never fathomed the possibility that she would bring his mother back to him. She said wanted to give him what he needed the most. And he supposed that having his mother back was at the top of that list. But like this?

Ideally, Mary Winchester would have never died in the first place. He often wished more than anything that he and Sam had a normal childhood and their Dad would have taken them to baseball games instead of on the trail of the next monster as they searched for the yellow-eyed demon.

He wanted the mother who cut the crust off his peanut butter sandwiches and who would chide him for not cleaning his room or for picking on his little brother too much.

Instead, he found her searching for help while he was searching for a damned signal to his cell phone. The moment he saw her, all breath left his body. In a flash of time, he considered every possibility: That her return was a reward for all of the struggling and fighting and saving the world over and over — or that it really wasn't her. Maybe she was a ghost or a zombie or maybe even a shifter. Or maybe she was just a hallucination and she really wasn't there at all.

Then he considered that if she really was his Mom, what kind of price would need to be paid for her return because there's always a price.

Though he was guarded, he made the choice to believe that this was Mary Winchester because Amara wanted to reward him not curse him. If he couldn't be the innocent four-year old boy who had the promise of a normal life with a mother to keep him safe from the evil in the world, then he was fine being the 37-year-old damaged hunter who would protect her at all costs.

But first, he had to convince Mary that he was really her oldest son. As she shivered in the cold air, Dean took off his jacket and draped it over her tense shoulders. She accepted the jacket but remained hesitant of the strange man who just called her Mom.

When he sensed her apprehension, he backed away, holding up his hands to show that he was not a threat. From one of his trips back to the past, he remembered her being quite a fighter. He didn't want to end up face down in the dirt since he would never fight back. Not against her.

Her expression eased only slightly as he gently prodded for what she remembered.

She talked of the two small children she left at home — was anxious to return to them and to her husband. She didn't know how she ended up in this park so far from them. Where was she anyway, she asked, and Dean couldn't answer because he didn't know either.

She remembered the day as being Nov. 2, 1983.

Since Mary grew up in a hunter's family, she believed the unbelievable. So Dean decided the truth was best. Her eyes widened in horror as Dean asked if she remembered the yellow-eyed demon in Sammy's nursery.

"How do you …?" she spat. Her face turned hard as she accused, "Are you him?"

"No," he assured her, forcing himself to keep his distance. "I'm not a demon and it's not 1983. It's 2016 and I _am_ your son."

Mary scoffed at the idea that the man standing before her was her first born until he explained about the demon that had marked Sam. He told her that she died that night and that their dad dedicated himself to finding the thing that killed her and had raised her sons to be hunters.

Reluctantly, Dean told her that her husband died a decade before, though he couldn't bring himself to tell her John died at the hands of the yellow-eyed demon to save him.

His eyes filled at the memory losing his mother all those years ago and at his father's sacrifice to save him, though he tried not to let it show. He wanted Mary to see that he turned out alright — mostly.

In the end, it was the tears he tried to hide that convinced Mary that the man before her was her son. She could John in his features and herself in his demeanor. Dean sank into the hug she gave him, all thoughts about her not being real dissipated.

She trusted him enough to go with him to the nearest hotel that wasn't the smelly, grimy establishment he usually chose. She needed to get inside and warmed up and he needed a minute to think so he could figure out what to do next.

He found a bland but clean Best Western in the town of Great Falls, Montana. Since the Ritz was out of the question, this would have to do. And it was certainly better than the grungy places he normally would inhabit.

The drive back to the bunker would take at least 15 hours. But first, he needed to find some better clothes for Mary and maybe some food. And he needed to talk to Sam.

Once he checked in, he tried again to call his brother, frustrated at the voice mail message that popped up immediately. So he tried Cas. When his voice mail came up after the fourth ring, Dean ended the call to try Sam again. Something was not right. He could feel it.

"What's wrong?"

He turned to see his mother appraising him. She was as overwhelmed as he, perhaps even more so.

"I was trying to call Sam," he answered as casually as he could. "He's a lot bigger than you remember him."

"On that?" she nodded to the small box in his hand.

"Yeah," he chuckled, holding up his cell. "Phones have changed in the last 30 years."

"I guess that isn't the only thing that's changed," she noted distantly. "You were just a boy, and Sammy was just a little baby."

"Yeah, well, he grew." Dean attempted a smile.

A pained expression clouded her face. "He wouldn't even remember me. I don't know how you could remember much."

"I remember everything." His abrupt reply came with too much intensity. Her absence left a hole in his heart that never went away, but the time he had with her was burned into his memory. "I remember the the song you used to sing to get me to sleep. I remember that the apple pie you made was the best thing I'd ever tasted. I remember that you were a good mom."

Her eyes filled as she stepped closer, brushing a hand across his cheek. "I'm so sorry I left you."

He leaned in to her touch and for a split second, he felt like a little boy again. Yet he wasn't that child anymore. And he wasn't the man he would have been had she lived.

"It wasn't your fault," he managed. "And Sam and I are okay." Not great, but okay, he thought but didn't voice out loud.

Mary's eyes brightened as he again mentioned her baby boy. "Tell me about him."

An easy smile filled Dean's face as he lifted his hand several inches above his head. "He's about yay high." He dropped his hand to just above his shoulder and grinned. "His hair is about yay long. He's a little bit of a geek, you know? Really smart. Smarter than me by a long shot, but don't tell him I said that. He likes to be called Sam, which means of course that I still call him Sammy."

He couldn't help but stare when she laughed at the comment, what he sure was a goofy smile tugging at his lips. He was enthralled by her laugh and how it sounded just as he remembered. He snapped back to the moment when she grew quiet and was staring, equally fascinated by him. And he was uncomfortable by it so he moved the focus back to his little brother.

"He's a good man, Mom. He turned out alright."

"It sounds like your Dad did a good job of raising you boys."

Dean shrugged because of the complicated life they led. He loved his father with everything he had, but the man had his failings.

He still felt the ache 10 years later but he had come to terms with the death that happened so long ago. But for his mother, the loss was still new and raw. He didn't know how to comfort her as the emotions flashed across her face. And he would never speak ill of the man who had taught him so much.

"He did the best he could without you." She nodded, tears filling her eyes. He thought perhaps she would finally break down over the loss, but she blinked away the emotion. They both needed some time to process all of it so he cleared his throat to mark the end of the conversation.

He handed Mary the clothes he bought for her and ushered her off to the bathroom to shower and change, telling her they had a long trip ahead of them to see Sam. She looked down at the denim jacket that covered her thin, white her gown and nodded, a tinge of apprehension still in her eyes. He planned to let her rest for the night, but since he couldn't reach his brother, he was anxious to find him.

It was after he heard the running shower that he finally managed to reach Cas. For only that moment, and it didn't make him feel any better that Cas sounded so stricken.

"I swear, Sam," Dean mumbled to the empty room, "if you did something stupid …." He let the thought fade, not willing to consider the possibility that Sam wasn't okay, and reached over the bed for the phone so he could try calling again.

The sound of his own name jolted him.

"Dean."

He whipped around to see Cas standing in the middle of the hotel room in a dirty, rumpled trench coat.

He released a long sigh of relief to see his friend. "Cas. How did you ….?"

"You're alive."

"Yeah," Dean answered, pushing his own questions to the background. "I didn't have detonate," he explained, pointing the place in the chest that housed the bomb of souls. "Amara and Chuck made peace."

Though it wasn't unusual for Cas to have a look of awkward confusion on his face, Dean supposed it was warranted this time.

"I'm okay, man."

The angel gave him a nod and took a half step toward Dean as if to hug him before changing his mind and stepping back. Dean was more than grateful. He appreciated the sentiment, but he didn't think he could handle any more sappy moments — at least not until he knew that Sam was okay. "How did you find me so fast?"

"I believe a piece of Lucifer's grace may have been left in me. After your call, I flew here."

"Lucifer," Dean considered before offering his own theory. "Maybe Chuck healed you?"

A slight shake of the head revealed the angel's doubts. "Whatever the reason, I am very glad to see you."

"Yeah, me too," Dean allowed a smile before turning toward the bathroom door. The shower stopped which meant he mom would be out any second.

"Listen," he blurted out urgently only to be cut off by Cas.

"Are you with someone?"

"Yes. That's what I've been trying to tell you. Amara …."

"You're with Amara?" The angel's voice sounded panicked and somewhat horrified.

"No, no," Dean replied, appalled that Cas would think that, but he didn't have time to take offense. He nervously glanced to the closed bathroom door and back to Cas. "Of course not. It's not like that."

"Maybe I should leave."

"Don't you dare move," Dean shot out. The panic he had been forcing down was finally coming out. It had taken him the better part of the night to get in touch with anyone. He sure as hell wasn't going to let Cas out of his sight until he had some answers. "Just listen. Okay?"

Cas stilled, tilting his head as a sign he was listening.

Dean huffed out a strained breath, knowing he needed to tell the angel about his mother returning from the dead but he went with the foremost thing on his mind before Cas could disappear on him. "Where's Sam?"

When Dean was met with only silence, his knees buckled. "Cas …," he began before his voice faltered. Swallowing past the lump in his throat, he asked again. "Where is he?"

"Sam's missing."

He squeezed his eyes shut, relieved for a moment that Cas didn't say that Sam was dead. But he realized that 'missing' didn't necessarily mean 'alive' and very likely did not mean 'well.' Prying his mouth open again, he needed to ask what happened but was interrupted by the sound of this mother's voice.

"He's missing?"

Cas pulled his focus from Dean, his mouth gaping at the sight of the woman standing in the bathroom doorway. He drew his gaze slowly back to his friend, a questioning look in his eyes.

Dean met the angel's stare with a shrug. "Looks like we both have some explaining to do."

* * *

 _AN: Just a note about the bunker key. I've noticed that even though the bunker was supposed to be impenetrable, it actually has been penetrated a few times. Crowley, a rogue angel, the Stynes and Billie the Reaper have all entered without invitation. So maybe the Winchesters don't necessarily need a key. It's not an important detail, but I thought I'd explain my reasoning. :)_


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: Thanks so much for the wonderful response to this story. I very much appreciate all of the reviews and follows. Thanks for reading.**

* * *

 **Chapter 2**

Mary Winchester was not surprised to learn that angels existed. She just didn't expect one to be dressed in a blue suit and trench coat. Or to have one so casually introduced to her by her son — her adult son.

"This is a vessel," Castiel explained. "You would not be able to look upon my true form."

"Or listen to him," Dean put in, remembering disastrous it had been for him when Cas first tried to speak to him. He wiggled a finger in his ear at the memory.

Mary had many questions about why an angel was living in the flesh among her boys. She certainly didn't expect him to be such good friends with them. Dean seemed relieved the see Castiel but at the same time annoyed with him. The angel took her son's belligerence in stride as Dean questioned him about why Sam was missing.

"You promised you'd watch out for him," Dean complained, more pained than angry.

Castiel lowered his eyes as the comment hit close to home. "I'm sorry, Dean."

Regret for his harsh words flashed across Dean's face. Cas dipped his head accepting the wordless apology and her son immediately returned to the task at hand.

"Just tell me what happened."

"When we got back to the bunker after ….." The angel gave Mary a quick glance before looking to Dean again. "You … left …."

"Yeah," Dean murmured.

"Someone was waiting."

"Who?"

Cas shook his head. "I don't know. She used a sigil to banish me. She was waiting for us, and she obviously knew I would be with Sam. I was going to stay with him no matter what, Dean."

Mary watched curiously as Dean gave his head a slight nod, acknowledging the angel's words.

"The intruder was prepared. By the time I got back, Sam was gone. As I was searching the bunker for clues, you called."

"Can you zap us all back there now?"

"I should be able to, yes."

"Alright," he said to Cas before turning back to his mother. "Let's get back home to find Sam."

"Back home?" Mary didn't want to ask too many questions now, not while her son was missing. But she could barely follow the Dean's conversation with Castiel. "To Lawrence?"

Despite being anxious to start looking for Sam, Dean slowed his pace to explain. He was patient with her and his expression held no hint of the frustration he had just displayed to the angel. "No. We're going to where Sam and I live. Lebanon."

"You have a house?"

"More like a bunker, but I guess we would call it home."

He _guessed_ it was home. That raised more questions for the mother who was eager to learn more about her children. She never wanted them to be hunters in the first place, and this made her even more concerned about their lives if they called a bunker a home.

Castiel put a hand of each of their shoulders and paused, shifting his gaze to Mary. "This may make you feel lightheaded. But it will cause you no harm."

Mary glanced toward her eldest, who gave her a tense smile. She felt like she tucked in her baby and woke up in the twilight zone where her lovable, four year old little boy was a grown man. He was older now than she had been when she last saw him.

The scars she saw didn't belong on the sweet face that she remembered. The darkness in his eyes that he tried so desperately to hide seemed foreign to her. She ached for him and what he must have endured in his life.

Though she was frantic with worry about her missing son, it touched her beyond words that Dean spoke so affectionately about Sammy. Or Sam, as he liked to be called, proving that her baby was a grown man as well.

She was overwhelmed by how the world had changed. She grieved the loss of her husband and mourned the years she missed with her children. Her heart broke for Dean, who seemed to have the weight of the world on his shoulders, and for Sam, who was lost and in trouble. And now an angel was telling her that she may feel lightheaded after he 'zaps' them to a bunker that Dean called home.

Feeling lightheaded was the least of her worries. Yet how she felt was less important than finding her little boy. So she steeled herself against her rising panic and spoke with confidence to Castiel.

"I'm ready."

Mary stumbled slightly when they landed in the bunker, but Dean was quick to catch her. "You okay?"

"Yes," she answered, though she really wasn't. Physically, she was fine, except for the dizziness that Castiel warned her about. Emotionally, she was on edge, though she refused to let it show. She took a moment to look around this place that her boys called home.

She noticed no windows or doors until her eyes followed the wrought iron staircase to the top where she assumed was the entrance. The place looked like a war room from the 1930s. The primary piece of furniture was a lighted table map of the world. A bank of computers that were out of date even in her time and clocks from various time zones lined the wall.

Dean paused again to make sure she was fine before moving briskly to an archway where he examined a marking drawn in blood. She looked beyond him to see a library also decorated in the 1930s style and lined with books and decorated with weapons.

"She made a couple of mistakes," Dean commented, looking to Castiel after he studied the markings.

"Yes," the angel confirmed. "But it was good enough to blast me out of the way."

"What else did you find?"

Cas motioned to some blood on the floor.

Dean's face fell as he followed Castiel's line of vision. "He's hurt?"

"It appears so," the angel answered as he moved to the splosh of blood and picked up a device that looked similar to the one she saw in Dean's hand earlier. "His cell phone is broken."

"So we can't track him with GPS," Dean noted, his eyes still scanning the floor. He narrowed his focus to something a few feet away. He stooped to pick up a bullet casing, worry crowning his features. He seemed to forget Mary was there at all when he looked to his friend. "He was shot."

Castiel met her son's gaze, his brows drawn together, as he searched for some hope to relay to the distressed brother. "It would seem she wants him alive," the angel offered.

"But he thinks that I'm …," Dean began, but cut himself off with a glance to his mother. Cas seemed to pick up on what he was trying to say.

"I have no doubt that he would keep trying to find a way back," Cas said. "He won't give up."

Mary watched the entire scene as Dean transformed from concerned to alarmed. His only tell was the look in his eyes. Never once did he lose his calm demeanor, but she wondered how he would have reacted had she not been present.

"Dean," she finally spoke up. He stood to face her, not able to fully look her in the eye. "Tell me what happened."

"That's what we're trying to figure out, Mom." His tone was gentle but his words were nonetheless evasive.

She meet his hesitant look with a determined one. "I need you to tell me what happened before you found me."

"Mom, I …."

She knew he was trying to protect her, but that wouldn't help them find Sam. Though to him, she had been dead for the past 30 years, she felt like young mother who would do anything to keep her family safe. She had already lost John, and she refused to lose one of her boys. As unsettled as she felt about the jump in time, she was determined to pull answers from the reluctant source.

"You were wandering alone in the woods where you find a mother whose been dead for over 30 years. I could see the shock on your face. Then you had to _steal_ a car to get us into town. You spent hours trying to contact your brother when an angel …. _an angel,_ " Mary emphasized, "showed up to help. We find out that Sam has been missing for more than a day. He's probably wounded and it sounds like he didn't expect you to come back at all."

Dean blew out a breath. "You don't miss a thing, do you?"

"No. I've had plenty of practice."

Dean's eyes widened at her defiance and he seemed stung by her tone. The last thing she wanted was to hurt him so she softened her voice. "I know that I've been gone for a long time. A lifetime for you. But for me, it's been hours."

"Exactly. You've lost a lot in a matter of _hours,"_ he said, the pain evident now in the slight tremble in his voice. "Thirty years of your life. Dad. I don't want to put too much on you at once."

"Too much would be if something happens to Sam and I don't do something to help find him," she retorted. "You and Sam are still my children. I don't care if it's been a day or 30 years. I'm your mother and I'm strong enough to help you with whatever you dealing with now."

"Yeah, I can see that."

As Dean studied her, Mary again was hit with the knowledge that she didn't know him well enough to guess what he was thinking. She wondered if perhaps he realized that young mother that he idolized was not the mother who stood before him now.

After a pause, Dean relented. "Sam thought I was dead. When I found you, I was trying to contact him to let him know I'm okay."

So many questions swirled in her head before she settled on the most pressing one. "You're worried that he would do something to himself?" She couldn't quite say that he would harm himself, but she didn't like how anxious Dean had been to find him.

"Not really that he would intentionally hurt himself, but that he would be more reckless than usual."

"Is he impulsive?"

"No. That would be me," Dead admitted with a snort. "He's gotten out of some tough jams before, so I think he'll be fine. I'm worried because that's what I do. I worry about Sam. I always have."

Mary sensed that what Dean felt now was far past worry. If he has _always_ worried about Sam, it's because of the danger that lurked in every shadow in this business.

Her boys ended up in the very life she wanted to protect them from. He had a look in his eyes that she had seen in her own father every so often and in her mother almost every day of her life. And God knows she certainly felt it before she escaped that life and married John.

So if Dean looked anxious, it was because of the job John had raised them to do. She felt a jab of anger at her husband before she remembered he wasn't around to defend himself. He died years before, Dean told her, but he wouldn't say how. And she couldn't bring herself to ask just yet.

So maybe Dean was right that she wasn't quite ready to hear all of their story. But that wouldn't stop her from doing whatever it took to save her youngest son.

"There's a lot I need to know, but not today," she conceded, receiving a nod from Dean, who seemed to appreciate the compromise.

"How do we find Sam?" she asked, leaving no doubt that she intended to be involved every step of the way.

Dean shrugged because he wasn't sure where to start looking.

"I found one other clue," Cas spoke up. He had been so quiet, Mary had almost forgotten he was in the room. Her son turned quickly to face the angel, a shred of hope creeping into his expression.

Castiel held up a metal box that Dean seemed to recognize instantly.

"She had a key?" Dean pondered that for a moment, holding out his hand for the box. As he examined it, pieces seemingly falling into place. "A few of the markings are different. It's not our key. You said she was British?"

"Yes."

"And the only people who would have access to a key like that would be …."

"Men of Letters," Cas finished.

"Do you think it's possible?"

Again, Mary felt lost at the conversation, but Dean looked so hopeful, she didn't call him on it.

"A chapter in Great Britain?" Cas offered.

"Has to be, right?"

Mary blinked when the angel she had been watching with such intensity disappeared with a fluttering sound. And glanced at her son, who was actually smiling.

"I kinda missed that," he said mostly to himself.

"Missed what?" Mary had to ask.

"Cas disappearing on me," he said, not bothering to explain why that was something to be missed. But she admired the firm faith he had in the angel. "He's gone to check something out. He'll be back."

The more she got to know Castiel, the more unlike what she imagined an angel to be. But he was kind and he watched out for her boys, so what more could she ask. And because Dean trusted the quirky angel so much, so did she.

ooOoOoOoo

Dean shifted, not sure what to say after Cas left. It would take him some time to search pretty much all of England, he guessed.

"Do you need something?" he asked Mary.

"It would be nice to know where Castiel went."

"He's looking for what may be a Men of Letters chapter overseas."

"Men of Letters?"

"It's was … or maybe still is … an organization that records and stores information about anything supernatural. Dad's father was a Man of Letters so Sam and I are legacies."

Her eyes rose at this revelation but she didn't ask how Dean knew this.

"Long story," he added. He skipped most of the details, even the part that Henry Winchester didn't abandon his son. The more he explained, the more questions she would have, and some he just wasn't ready to answer. So he kept to the basics.

"This was once a Men of Letters bunker until they were wiped out in the 50s. At least we thought they were eradicated by a demon — a Knight of Hell. But the key box Cas found indicates other this group may exist elsewhere."

"You think a Man of Letters kidnapped your brother?"

"A woman, but yes." Dean was still patient with her questions, he felt a restlessness stirring just under the surface. Had she not been here, he would have gone with Cas to look for Sam. But he couldn't leave his newly back-from-the-dead mother alone, and Cas could probably cover more ground without him.

He gave Mary an uneasy smile and shifted again. "You want a drink or something? I think I'll have one."

When she didn't reply, he turned toward the bottles of liquor. "Do you drink whiskey? I don't remember seeing you drink. I guess I only remember the glasses of milk you gave me. If you don't like whiskey, we probably have beer. Probably not wine though. But we have coffee. Maybe Sam bought some tea, but I …."

"Dean." Mary cut off his ramblings.

He snapped his mouth closed at what felt like a rebuke to him. She probably didn't mean it that way, and he knew he was yammering on about nothing. She was his mother and he loved her, but he didn't know what to say to her. And he couldn't take anymore questions at the moment. It killed him that Sam was out there somewhere and Dean couldn't do a damned thing about. The bourbon in his hand was the only thing that would calm his nerves.

He downed the drink in one gulp before pouring another. Holding up the bottle, he offered once more. "You sure?"

It made him more uncomfortable when Mary scanned him as if she could see every flaw. And there were many. He glanced away from the doe-eyed look she gave him and realized that Sam got those eyes from her. The eyes that made total strangers open up about the unbelievable horrors they had seen. The ones that made Dean acquiesce to anything his little brother wanted as a child. Hell, sometimes as an adult, too. He worried that if he met her gaze, he would start spilling every secret that he didn't want her to know about himself.

"Yes, I'll have one," she answered with a sigh.

He nodded, embarrassed by his own behavior. When he handed her the glass, he paused as she reached out for it, making eye contact again and giving her the best smile he could muster. She ran her hand over his as she accepted the drink.

"I know I lost any right to mother you years ago," she began.

"That's not true," he said automatically.

"And I guess we really don't know each other very well, but you and Sam are still the most important people in the world to me."

"I know." And he did know, but he was unsure how to close the distance between them was 30 years wide. He opened his mouth to say more, but Cas reappeared as suddenly as he left. It took both another moment to pull their eyes from each other to find out what Cas learned.

ooOoOoOoo

"It still exists and they don't like us," Dean commented, his voice flat. That pretty much summed up what Cas discovered. "That's nothing new. Most people don't like us."

"They hold you two responsible for the …," Cas paused to choose his words carefully, aware that Mary didn't know about the brothers' past. " … the troubles we've had recently."

"Of course they do," he scoffed. "Perched up on their high horses, they probably have a good view of life in the trenches."

Dean turned away to pour himself another whiskey. "Where do they have Sam?" When Cas didn't immediately answer, he looked back at him, the whiskey already gone from the glass.

"I don't know," the angel admitted. "He's still somewhere in the states, but I've had trouble locating him. Their angel warding must be exceptionally effective."

That they were no closer to finding Sam made Dean crave another shot of whiskey, but he was aware of his mother's eyes on him. He put down the glass and took his frustration out on his friend. He knew Cas could take it and he hoped that the angel would forgive him for being an ass. Lashing out was the only way he could keep a lid on his rising panic. "What the hell do they want from him?"

"Basically, to answer for your crimes," Cas responded, unfazed by the underlying harshness of his tone.

"Crimes?" Dean was offended. They had made mistakes — a whole boatload of them — but they had tried their best to do the right thing. Sam especially so. The upper crust idiots from Britain probably spent too much time in their books than out in the real world where hunters like him too often had to choose between something bad or something worse. Bobby used to say that they had to do a little bad to do a lot of good. That's the way it was.

'Apes' is how Henry Winchester referred to them when he found out they had been raised as hunters. If he thought that, Dean felt sure that these snobby sons of bitches who had Sam thought worse. Whatever they were doing to his little brother couldn't be good.

"How exactly are they making him answer?" Dean again ignored the call of the whiskey beside him as he asked.

Cas shrugged. "I don't want to speculate, but we need to find him soon."

"Damn it," Dean groaned. He swiped at the beads of sweat that popped up on his forehead and scrubbed his hand down his face. Sam needed help now, and they had no idea where to look.

"Dean." The soft voice coming from his mother was unexpected. Lifting his head, he remembered she had been listening to the conversation. Her eyes were drawn together in near panic. As anxious as he was to find Sam, she had to be more so. He knew that she was smart enough to understand what was left unspoken — that Sam was probably being tortured. And if they didn't hurry to find him, it would be too late.

It wasn't the first time he saw tears fill her eyes, but it was the first time since he found her that she gave into them. Because she cried, he thought he might, too. So he pulled her in for a hug so she wouldn't see it.

As she leaned against his chest weeping, Dean realized one thing Mary didn't know about him. Dad knew it all those years ago, and Cas knew it when he pulled Dean hell. Had it not been for the belief that he was dead, Sam would have known too that Dean would stop at nothing to save his brother.

"I'm going to find him, Mom," he promised, pushing her back so she could see the raw determination that would never waver when it came to Sammy. "No matter what."


	3. Chapter 3

AN: Thanks for reading and the reviews. I so much appreciate all of your comments! Sam is still radio silent in this chapter, but Mary and Cas will have a talk. Hope you enjoy!

* * *

 **Chapter 3**

A low-tech paper map of Kansas laid spread out on top on one of the study tables. Circles marked the spots where Cas had trouble viewing while he was looking for Sam.

"These areas have been warded against angels. As well as quite a few spots in Iowa, Oklahoma, Missouri, and South Dakota," he explained. "Some are as far away as Texas."

"They warded dozens of spots just so Sam would be hard to find?" Dean scrunched his face at the marks that cluttered the map.

"They must have known I would look for him," the angel said. "If they just warded the location where he is being held, I would know where to find him."

"It would take forever to physically search all of these places," Dean was thinking out loud. He wasn't really expecting a response.

"What if we had help?" Mary suggested. "You must know other hunters."

"All the ones I trust are dead," Dean said flatly. He wished Bobby, with his network of hunters, was still around. Actually, he wished Bobby was alive. Period.

"All of them?" He looked at Mary to see her face drawn. He made the comment about the hunters offhandedly. Since Bobby died and Garth became a werewolf, he really didn't have much use for the hunting community. Since he pretty much caused Rudy's death, none of them had much use for him either.

You don't have anyone?" Mary asked as if his pronouncement revealed a whole new level of distress for her.

"We're not particularly social, I guess," Dean tried to minimize the fact that they've lost nearly everyone they care about. "There's Cas. And we have a few of non-hunter friends that I can't put in the middle of this."

"Oh."

It was at the moment Dean saw Mary look so disappointed that he had a revelation.

"I guess there's one other …," he paused, not quite able to say he was a friend but he might be willing to help. He drew his gaze to Cas. "Crowley?"

Cas released a grunt that implied a noticeable distaste at the very thought of dealing with the former King of Hell.

"We're out of options, man. And he can get in where you can't."

"You're right," Cas conceded. "Should I talk to him?"

"This is better coming from me," Dean said, as he pulled out his phone to make the call.

ooOoOoOoo

Mary heaved a deep sigh after Dean left. She tried to hold it together despite the overwhelming loss she felt. She tried to be strong for Dean, but she lost it when she realized that her baby boy was suffering and possibly dying. Dean tried to assure her that Sam was tough and he had been through worse. Though she knew Dean was worried, he wasn't buckling under the weight of it like she had.

She supposed it was the way of life that children would eventually outgrow their parents and become strong, independent adults. Yet it still grieved her that she had no part in their upbringing. As much as her firstborn was trying to comfort her when he vowed to find Sam 'no matter what,' she was afraid for how much Dean would risk to save him, especially when he wouldn't say exactly who Crowley was and how he could help.

"He owes me," was Dean's only explanation. It gave her a bad feeling but she offered no complaint because she was desperate to save Sam as well. Dean left her with a kiss to the top of her head — another sign that her child was her protector rather than she being his — and she was left behind with an angel to babysit her.

"Can I get you anything?" Cas asked, somewhat awkwardly. Yet he had been so patient with her son's belligerence as they figured out how to find Sam.

"Dean was rather brusque to you," she commented.

"He's just worried about Sam. His fear often comes out as anger."

Mary nodded at the insight about her son. There was so much more she wanted to know but she was unsure what to ask next.

Sensing her tension, the angel pulled up a chair and sat across from her, leaning in to make his point. "Dean would do anything for Sam."

Her head popped up as he touched on the very thing that worried her. "I don't want to lose him either. He's so edgy and anxious. He's trying to hide it, but it's written all over him."

"Dean's a good hunter. The best there is. And when he finds Sam, he'll make sure they both make it home."

"You sound so sure."

"Dean and Sam have a habit of exceeding my expectations. They will get through this," Cas said, then added, " And I will do everything I can to make sure they are safe."

The awkwardness he noticed in the angel was gone now and replaced with a confidence that made her envious. She wanted to know her boys the way this angel knew them. She wanted to know what made them tick and why Dean felt the pull of the whiskey earlier. Why Dean 'always' worried about Sam and why Sam thought Dean was dead. Why did John think it was the right thing to do to raise them as hunters even though it was the last thing she would have wanted? She wanted to understand why they didn't have families. How did they spend their free time? Did they enjoy the hunter's life? Surely they dreamed of more. Most of all, she simply wanted to know that they were happy.

And she had a feeling she was talking to the only person who would give her some answers.

Mary decided to start with a simple question, but hopefully one that would open the mystery that was her son. "You're close with Dean? He trusts you."

"We've been through much together."

"Have you always known them? As an angel, were you watching over them their entire lives?" She realized her perspective on angels might be inaccurate, but it would please her to know that someone had been protecting them.

"Not exactly. I've seen their lives, in retrospect. I knew of them but I didn't really know them personally until about 8 years ago."

"How did you meet them?" Mary felt like this was too close to an interrogation, and she was afraid Cas would stop answering her questions. Pulling from her experience as a hunter, she softened her eyes and allowed her lips to turn into a hint of a smile.

The answer Cas gave her was so casual, she stared at him for a few moments to make sure she heard him correctly.

"I met Dean when I pulled him from hell."

She let out a gasp as her eyes widened. "Dean was in hell?"

Cas drew back, realizing too late the impact of this statement. "I … uh …I …," Cas sputtered. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have revealed that. It's been so long since …. I had not considered that you didn't know."

"Why was he in hell?"

The angel stood, nervously wiping his hands on his coat. "Dean will be unhappy that I told you."

"Castiel," Mary said, regaining her composure. Or perhaps she was simply pushing down her panic that child was in _hell_. There was no way she would let the angel stop now.

Though he also calmed, Cas kept insisting he couldn't say more. "Dean needs to explain it. Not me."

"I need to know what they've been through," she pleaded.

"If I told you, it would break your heart."

She saw the compassion in his eyes, but felt her stomach plummet at the comment. "Their lives have been heartbreaking?"

"Some of it, yes, but," Cas started, easing himself back in the chair. "It would also make you proud. They keep fighting to save innocent people. They fight to save each other. Despite their difficulties, they are good, decent men. They are, in my opinion, the best of humanity."

"I can see that Dean is a strong, determined man, and I know it's true in Sam just by the way Dean talks about him." Images of her boys as children flooded her head making her eyes burn at the innocence that was lost. She appraised the angel, carefully chose her words before she spoke.

"It's been torture for me knowing that I've missed out on watching them grow up. Maybe I should be proud, but I'm angry," she said, her voice tight. "I'm so angry that I couldn't have a part in shaping the people they've become. Knowing they are living the very life I died to prevent. I look at my boy and I can see the grueling life he's lived. I can see the toll being a hunter has taken on him by the lines that are etched into his face. He's too young to wear such sorrow."

I know it's been difficult for you," Cas acknowledged. "I'm sorry."

"Why am I here, Castiel?" She desperately wanted to know. Dean was closed-mouth on the subject, though she could tell he knew more than he was saying.

When Cas didn't answer, she pressed. "I don't know why or how I came back after all of these years. I don't know if it was some higher power or something evil that brought me here. But there must be a reason for it because otherwise it's just cruel .…" She paused, pressing her lips into a thin line to stop them from trembling.

Cas noticed tremor, was sympathetic to it, but would not be swayed by it. Dean wouldn't want her to know some of their struggles. Or he would need to tell her himself.

Mary appealed to him again. "It's cruel to bring me back after so long knowing that there's nothing I can do for them."

"Just being here is helping them."

"No," she refuted his words. "Dean seems tortured when he looks at me."

"That's not true," Cas said, yet he believed it was a little bit true. Knowing Dean as he did, he knew it was because she became a new vulnerability for him. He had lived with her death. Survived it the best way he knew how. And now that she was back, losing her again would bring him to his knees. Cas wondered if Amara was really trying to reward him. Perhaps it was last jab at him for carrying the bomb of souls that would have destroyed her. Then he remembered that humanity was a mystery to her. Maybe she really didn't know that the act of bringing back Mary Winchester, as well-intentioned as it was, would bring with it the potential for more pain to Dean if he lost her again.

"One minute, I catch the yellow-eyed demon in Sammy's nursery, and then it's 33 years later." Mary said. "The only sense I can make of it is if I came back to help them. And I can't do that if I don't know what they've been through."

"Dean and Sam should tell you about their lives," he reiterated. However, he was bending, ever so slightly, to the words she said.

"I know they should tell me, but they won't. They will want to protect me. I have already learned that much about Dean. But don't you see that _I_ need to protect _them_. If I can't do that then there's no reason for me to be back at all."

Castiel was silent still, though his defiance was fading.

"You care about them, don't you?" Mary asked.

"Of course."

"Then please, help me help them."

Cas let out a long sigh, understanding that he would have to answer to his friend for what he was about to say.

"Dean went to hell because traded his soul to save Sam."

oOoOoOo

"Dean should be back soon," Cas said as Mary sat quietly taking in what he had told her.

"If he's angry with you, put the blame on me." She said that as if it would be an option.

Cas didn't comment, but that would never happen. He would accept the blame because it was his. Yet, he felt that she had a right to know at least some of what had happened in her sons' lives. She deserved to know that although her death lead to tragedy, in the end, it also made them strong.

He left out many details as he told her how her children saved the world by stopping the apocalypse. But he hit the highlights of how Dean tried to save Sam from the destiny laid before him by the yellow-eyed demon and how Dean couldn't see a way forward if he couldn't save his brother.

He told her how Sam efforts to save Dean from hell were in vain, and he too, had trouble seeing a way forward with out his brother. He mentioned the demon who swayed Sam to a dark path with a promise of revenge. He did not tell her about the demon blood addiction. That would be Sam's to admit if he chose to.

Cas explained how he and a battalion of angels pulled Dean from hell because the brothers had an important role in the apocalypse. And he explained that he fell from Heaven because of Dean's conviction that some things — such as the freedom to choose one's own destiny — were worth the ultimate sacrifice.

It was in that battle that each brother made his own sacrifice to save the world — Sam by jumping in the cage with Lucifer and Dean by driving onto that battleground to and allowing him to do it.

"But Sam …." she started. Her eyes were full — had been full — of unshed tears that refused to fall since he began the story. He always thought that the Dean and Sam were slow to show emotion because of their father. After watching Mary, he realized they may have gotten that trait from their mother, the hunter. He didn't know how she managed to hold back her grief as she listened.

"How Sam got back is a long story that I will not tell you today," Cas said firmly, not allowing Mary to cajole him into revealing more details. And he was clear that he left out specifics that would need to come from her sons. And anything that happened after they stopped Armageddon also would have to come from them.

"I will tell you this. Because of their upbringing, they were prepared for what they faced. They succeeded because they refused to give up. They surprised others angels and the demons — and me — by their resolve and their resourcefulness. I ended up as an outcast from Heaven, but with two of the closet friends I've ever had." He leaned in to emphasize his next words.

"Don't be angry. Don't be sad. Be proud."

At his words, Mary finally let the tears slip onto her cheeks. Cas reached out to gently squeeze her hand. He had seen humans do this as a way to offer comfort. He believed it did when he felt her fingers tighten around his.

Castiel wasn't sure he would ever fully be able to understand the loss she felt, but he did see that it was profound. He held her hand until she pulled it away to wipe the tears from her face. He stood, moving away to give her space.

Dean came in only minutes later, in time to catch Mary swipe the last of her tears. He stopped short, studying her for a moment before pulling his eyes to Cas only to be blocked by an enigmatic expression.

By the look Dean gave him, Cas knew he should prepare for a discussion on the matter. Though he wasn't eager to face an accusation of wrongdoing from his friend, he was ready to defend his decision. He couldn't say that he as absolutely right in telling her what he told her, but he could make a solid case for it.

But any explanation would come after a report on his meeting with the King of Hell, which was vague at best.

"Crowley agreed to check around," Dean said, breaking eye contact with the angel, looking again to Mary.

"I can keep an eye on him, if you like," Cas offered.

"Nah," Dean answered offhandedly as he continued to watch his mother. It was obvious she had been crying and even more obvious that Cas knew why. "He'll do it."

He drew a hard gaze back to Cas but snapped his attention back to his mother when she called his name.

"Dean. I'd like to lie down. Is there somewhere …."

"Yeah. Absolutely." With a gentle hand on her back, he lead her to one of the guest rooms in the sleeping quarters.

"It's a little drab, I suppose," Dean said as Mary skimmed the room. "The beds are pretty comfortable though."

"It's fine," Mary responded without emotion. She pulled her gaze from the bed to her son and spoke in a polite but distant tone. "Thank you."

Dean drew his brows together at his mother's change in demeanor. "Are you okay?" he asked. "Did Cas say something to upset you?"

"This entire situation is upsetting, Dean."

He shrank back from the admonishment. "I know," he said. "I just …."

Her eyes filled again as she grabbed his hand in apology. "I didn't mean to snap. I'm just tired."

"It's okay," he pressed his free hand over hers and fought the urge to quiz her about what really was wrong. Maybe the gravity of being propelled forward 30 years finally caught up with her. He felt like a child for being so hypersensitive to her moodiness. In fact, he discovered, he felt like a child whenever he was around her.

"You'll let me know if you get more information about Sam?"

"Yeah, of course," Dean promised. He hovered for another few seconds before he tentatively turned to leave.

Once he shut the bedroom door to give her some privacy, he scrambled back into the library and marched up to Cas and stood only inches from his face.

"What the hell happened here?"

Cas didn't flinch as he maintained eye contact. "She was upset."

"Yeah, I got that. What did you do?" he accused.

"Dean," Cas started, and stepped even closer to the angry hunter. Dean almost stepped back, but he held his ground, his face tight. Until Cas put a hand on his shoulder and said the one thing that could make him fold. "She loves you very much."

His face collapsed as he cast his accusing eyes away from Cas.

"She feels disconnected. She's mourning the fact that she didn't see you and Sam grow into adults. She's agonizing over the feeling that she doesn't know you very well."

"That'll come eventually," Dean said, pulling away. "We all need to adjust."

Spotting the bourdon again, he decided to take the opportunity to have another while he mother wasn't watching. He felt ridiculous for trying to hide it. He was 37 years old and he had every right to drink a whiskey when he felt like it. But it terrified him that once his mother got to know him, she might disapprove of the man he had become. That she wouldn't like not only the drinking but also the choices he's made. And none of that was Cas' fault.

"Listen, man. I'm sorry I accused you of upsetting her."

"It wasn't entirely a false accusation," Cas admitted.

Dean paused with the the newly poured glass of bourbon in his hand. "What?"

"She asked me what you and Sam have been through."

"You didn't tell her!" Images of all the hell he's been through — literal and figurative — flashed through his head. From torturing souls in hell to succumbing to the evil from the Mark of Cain and quite a few things in between. All of it made him damaged goods. "She can't know …."

"She needs to know, Dean," Cas answered, still unruffled. "She needs to know what she missed and how her absence impacted your life. She needs to know that she can have a place in it now."

"Dammit, Cas." Dean groaned, but he didn't lash out. He understood how agonizing it was for Mary to miss years with her children. And maybe she did need to know about their lives. But he didn't want her to know all of it. He certainly didn't want her to know how they sometimes hovered too close to the darkness. Hovered. Hmmph. He and Sam had face-planted themselves smack into it a time or two. "What did you tell her?"

"None of the recent events. I did tell her the story of the apocalypse, though I left out some of the more disturbing details."

Dean snapped his eyes closed. He supposed that was the place the start. Yellow Eyes. Lucifer. Saving the world. But some of it was too difficult to even think about much less share with Mary. Such as ….

"Demon blood?" he asked, worrying about what she might think of the son she hasn't yet seen.

"No. I told her about how Ruby manipulated Sam but not about the addiction."

"Okay," Dean breathed, and he remembered the worst of his own failings during those years. He was almost too afraid to ask. "What about hell? What I did in hell."

"She knows you were there and why, but not about the torture. And nothing after Sam jumped into the cage."

"So she knows I made a deal …" Dean rubbed a hand through his hair. That deal wasn't his best moment, but he knew deep down he would do the same thing again. The only thing he would have done differently was not break to the torture. So if his mother knew that he would die for Sam, Dean decided he could deal with that.

Cas didn't tell her the worst of it, though what he revealed was bad enough. Of course she would be upset, especially since it all had started in that nursery 33 years before. It really started over 40 years before when she herself made a deal with Azazel. He knew she would learn more about what he and Sam both had done over the years.

Dean never would have thought having her back would be so hard — or make him so afraid.

"This whole thing, Cas …." Dean shook his head. "I mean …. Seeing her again. Alive. Not as a ghost or because of a trip back in time. It's fantastic. Like a miracle, you know? I've missed her every day of my life. But …."

"It's complicated," Cas finished for him.

"It's surreal … having her here." Dean took a sip of the whiskey, only to find he lost the desire for it. All of his hostility that camouflaged his fear faded as he set the glass down and leaned with both hands on the table. "I can't help but think there's a catch."

"A catch?" Cas asked.

"A price. For bringing her back," Dean lifted his troubled eyes to his friend. "What if it's either her or Sam? What if _he's_ the price for her return? Because I can't — I just can't — choose between them."

Cas didn't answered immediately, and though Dean wanted the angel to tell him straight away that Sam wouldn't die so that Mary could live, he appreciated that Cas was considering it seriously before he gave an answer. Anything less would have been an empty promise.

"Amara knows how important Sam is to you. If she wanted to thank you, she wouldn't take him away."

"You think?" Dean asked, latching onto the shred of hope that Cas had provided him.

"I choose to believe that. And you should, too."

That wasn't the solace he was seeking, but Dean accepted it. It had always been up to him to save Sam. The only difference now was that he had a mother to protect as well. He knocked back the whiskey he had poured for himself, relishing the burn if left. It would be the last one for awhile because he couldn't allow himself to be dulled by alcohol. He put away his feelings of self-pity and of fear and decided that he would not lose his family — not this time. He looked to the only person he could count on to help.

Alright, then," he said to Cas. "Let's get Sam back."


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: I started this story thinking it would take about four chapters to finish. The story led me in a different direction, so it's taking me longer to get back to Sam. But his time is coming. I had a little trouble getting in to Mary's head in this chapter. I decided to think about how I would feel if I missed my kids' entire childhood. I hope it works. Thanks for all the reviews, follows and favorites and thanks for reading.**

* * *

 **Chapter 4**

Mary sat on the bed with her knees pulled up to her chest, waiting for the tears to come only to find that she couldn't cry. She wanted to. She wanted to scream for all of the horrors her sons had seen. She wanted to go back in time and not allow herself to make a deal with the yellow-eyed demon — even if it meant losing John. Because the lost she felt now was so much greater.

She more than anything wanted her innocent little boys back. Instead, they were strangers to her. She didn't know the sound of Sam's voice. Or what was going on in Dean's head. As patient and gentle he had been with her, he was so closed off to her and she didn't didn't know how to break through. So she sat rocking back and forth on the bed until the room began to close in on her.

Easing herself off the mattress, she wandered around the room, noticing how stark it was. How empty and cold it felt. What kind of lives did her boys have if they felt at home in such a bleak environment? She supposed the library was warm and inviting for the studious type, but she guessed that wasn't Dean.

She noticed already that her oldest liked to be moving, doing. Not sitting and waiting. She couldn't imagine him with his nose in a book.

She felt a strong urge to see Dean again — to remind herself that he was real and she wasn't locked into some kind of nightmare. As she headed back toward the common area, she paused in the corridor outside her bedroom and noticed another door ajar. Ignoring the feeling that she was prying, she pushed open the door and entered.

She found the room of a warrior. Guns, axes, knives. Weapons of all kinds adorned the walls. All were immaculate, well-cared for and, she believed, well-used. As if to contrast the harshness of the weapons, the room was softly lit by lamps. The walls were grey but it felt oddly homey. Perhaps it was the record player and a stack of vinyls that seemed to be a centerpiece of the room. Thumbing through them, she noticed that some were John's. She recognized an AC/DC album that was one of his favorites.

Her eyes moved to a desk where one picture of a little boy his his mother was displayed. This was Dean's room.

She examined the photo that, to her, was taken only months before — not long after Sammy was born. Dean's light brown hair that looked almost blonde in a certain light had darkened over the years, but a shadow of those sweet little eyes still remained in the hunter she saw today.

They had taken many pictures that day — of her with both boys. The family together. John with the boys. She insisted to John that she wanted a picture of just her and Dean — to show that he was still her little boy even with a new baby in the house.

Reverently, she placed the photo back exactly how she found it. She caught site of a necklace lying on the bedside table as if it had been intentionally placed a certain way — the leather strap entwined around an amulet. She dared not touch it knowing it must hold special some meaning to her son. It was another mystery — something else she would have to learn about him.

Back in the hallway, she paused again, knowing one of the rooms belonged to Sam. She took a guess and pushed open a door. The vibe in this room was different than Dean's — from the unmade bed to the desk piled high with files. A book lay opened on top. Peaking inside, she saw some passages about pre-biblical lore.

She remembered that Dean referred to her youngest son as a 'geek.' Looking at this room with its many books and a file cabinet, she believed that. Castiel told her that Sam had been to college for a while, but he left after his girlfriend was killed by a demon. That marked the day he and Dean began hunting together while they searched for their missing father.

She was struck by the differences in the decor that revealed such stark differences in her boys. The fighter and the scholar. She imagined that the two of them together could accomplish anything — just as angel said. Yet, she didn't quite feel the pride she should have — only sadness for them.

Spinning around the room once more, she looked for something that was uniquely Sam's — like the amulet in Dean's room. Her eyes fell to an old wooden box. She took a tentative step forward and allowed her hand to graze the top of it. It would be wrong, she knew, to invade Sam's privacy by looking inside. But she realized she wouldn't even recognize him if she saw him. She hoped he would forgive her as he raised the lid.

Tears sprung to her eyes when she got her first glimpse of Dean and Sam as boys. In the photograph, Dean looked to be in the middle of his teen years. Sam was maybe 12. They didn't exactly look unhappy, but their eyes missed that spark that young boys should have.

She snapped the lid down, closing off those years she missed. Years she could never get back. First days of school. First dates. Graduations. All the big moments in between when she could watch her little boys grow into men. And she missed all the little moments that allow a mother to know her children better than anyone else could ever know them. It crushed her to realize she would never know them that way.

Her knees buckled as she sank to the floor, her tears giving way to racking sobs. She cried for her dead husband, though she still didn't know how he died. She wept for her boys whose childhood should have been happy and carefree but was instead consumed by the evil lurking in the world. And she cried for herself. The life she wanted was long gone replaced by a nightmare where she feared she could never be close to the two people she loved the most.

oOoOoOo

Nervous energy made it impossible for Dean to be still. Maybe it was the full pot of coffee he had consumed over the past few hours. He checked on Mary several hours before, and found her curled up on Sam's bed sleeping. He didn't know how she found her way into Sam's room, but it didn't matter. If being there gave her comfort, he knew Sam wouldn't mind. He felt sure it was pure exhaustion that allowed his mother to rest at all.

He could use a few hours of sleep himself. It had been days that felt like a lifetime since he had slept more than a few minutes at a time. With the copious amount of caffeine rushing through his system accompanied by his all out anxiety about finding Sam, sleep wasn't an option for him. He eased the door closed and returned to the library where Cas was still studying the areas on the map.

"Anything new?"

Cas shook his head. They both knew that their best hope was with the less than reliable former King of Hell. After about a dozen calls to Crowley, Dean still didn't have the information he wanted. It was almost dawn now — another day that Sam was missing and possibly dying. And the son of a bitch demon was taking his time letting him know where to search for Sam.

Of course Crowley's assistance wouldn't be free. It never was. The demon was looking to take hell back, and he said he might need a little help with that. Dean's only condition was that it wouldn't involve hurting any innocent people.

"Don't think that this is a blank check," Dean made clear to him. "One favor in exchange for finding Sam's location."

Crowley must have been feeling generous to accept that deal because Dean would have laid siege to hell itself if it would bring back Sam.

Dean glanced at his watch for the umpteenth time asking the rhetorical question that he knew Cas couldn't answer. "Where the hell is he?"

"I"m right here." Crowley suddenly stood in the middle of the library, hands in his pockets looking as if he had been out for an evening stroll.

"Did you find him?" Anticipation filled Dean. Finally, he could do something to find Sam.

Crowley cocked his head. "I'll honor my part of the bargain if you honor yours."

"You know I'm good for it."

"This winged giraffe," he answered, nodding toward Cas, "has been known to renege."

"It's not his deal. It's mine," Dean retorted, his anger flaring and his patience spent. "Where the hell is Sam?"

"Listen, Squirrel. Finding Sam required me to make use of Rowena's services. That's not something I relish. So when I call, you will answer. Are we clear?"

Dean's clinched his jaw and gave his head a curt dip. "Yeah, we're clear."

Once Crowley was satisfied, he lifted his finger and brought it down on the map about 50 miles from the bunker. "Moose is probably here."

"Probably?"

"Rowena's location spell indicates he's there. It's heavily warded against demons and angels, but these Brits are savvy. They may have anticipated a witch's involvement."

"If he's not there …." Dean warned.

"If he's not, we'll keep looking." Crowley sounded almost sympathetic. "You should know a few more things. It's guarded by a team of elite hunters who don't like you."

"Okay." Dean shrugged. Getting past a gang of hunters would be the easy part.

"You'll need to get Moose out fast, so I recommend you get rid of the angel warding first." He pointed his head to Cas. "Fly Boy will come in handy if he can get in."

After a look to Cas, who tilted his head in acknowledgment, Dean look backed to Crowley. "Alright." Though he was afraid to ask, he had to know. "Do you know his condition?"

Crowley helped himself to a glass of bourbon as he answered. "I would hurry if I were you."

Dean rubbed a hand over his eyes and looked away from the smirk on Crowley's face. It was the second time he had heard that. He could not even consider the possibility that he would be too late to save his little brother. Already, his mind was ticking off options for how to take out an elite team of hunters so they could get to Sam. His bet was that an angry big brother and a fallen angel would be no match for them.

His thoughts shifted, contemplating which weapons he would need when he remembered he promised Mary to keep her updated. Glancing in the direction of the sleeping quarters, he saw her standing there. He gathered from her red-rimmed eyes that her nap had not been restful. And by the look on her face, he knew she heard everything Crowley said.

And Crowley was at the top of the list of people he didn't want to know about her being back. He twisted his gaze back to the demon, who's expression confirmed that he knew exactly who she was.

"You've been busy making deals this week," Crowley commented.

Dean gave him a deadly gaze. "If you tell anyone about this, I swear I will kill you myself."

"Oh, you're such a tease," Crowley winked. "Not to worry. I have my own mother to think about. Mothers back from the dead are such a burden. Take my word for it, they're more trouble than they're worth."

With the last word off his tongue, he popped out with the glass of whiskey still in hand.

"Okay," Dean breathed, more as way to make himself focus. He pushed aside the churlish comment about mothers returning from the dead. He didn't care if Crowley believed he made a deal to get her back. He didn't give a damn what the demon thought as long as he kept his mouth shut.

But Mary was another story. He turned to her, hoping she wouldn't push the issue. "We have a location for Sam."

"I heard," she said. "When do we leave?"

"No, no, no." Dean did his best to remain calm, but the thought of her coming along terrified him. "Not _we_. You need to stay here. Cas and I will …."

"I'm going with you, Dean," she insisted, her voice firm. Her expression defiant.

"No, you're not." Dean matched her defiance. "You need to stay here where it's safe."

"I'm not staying here while you risk your life to save your brother."

"You haven't hunted in 40 years," he tried.

"Ten to me," she rebutted.

"Still too long," he countered.

"I still know how to hunt. I'm not the person you think I am."

"You're exactly who I think you are. You're my mom and I'm not going to let you get hurt."

"It's not your responsibility to keep me safe!" she shouted, her frustration evident.

Dean refused to bend to her will, despite her angry tone. He raised his voice to match hers. "I will not lose you again!"

His words silenced her, but only for a moment. "If anything happens to you or Sam, what do you think it would do to me?"

Dean squeezed his eyes shut, trying to think of a way to make her understand. "If the people who have Sam find out who you are …." He paused, searching for a way to voice his fear. "If they know, they could use that against me. I can't risk that, Mom."

She considered his comment before she answered. "Don't call me Mom."

Dean froze at the implication of what she meant by that.

"And don't call me Mary. Not while we're hunting. Not while we're getting Sam. Call me Sue or Bernice or ... or ... hey you."

He blew out a breath as he wrapped his head around what she was saying. He couldn't treat her like a mom while they hunted for Sam. He couldn't let the pretentious Men of Letter bastards find out that his beloved mother, whom he had idolized for the past 30 odd years, was back from the dead. He got what she meant, but he wasn't ready to go along with it.

"They don't know that I'm back, do they?" she quizzed. "Unless Crowley tells them."

"No, he won't say anything." Dean knew that Crowley was more likely to use the information for himself later.

"Treat me like I'm just another hunter, not like something that needs special care."

God, she was so determined. Dean always thought his dad was the most strong-willed person he'd ever met. His father met a challenge like a bull, charging in without giving a chance of resistance. Not bothering to explain himself. He just expected obedience. His mother was just as hard-headed, but her style was more about finesse than about pure force. Damned if it wasn't just as effective. But Dean was pretty hard-damned-headed himself. If this was going to work, she would have to follow his rules.

He locked down his outright terror and stared back at her with hard eyes. "I'm in charge. Okay? You agree to that first or no deal."

"Deal."

"Okay," he nodded. "Cas, she'll need a tattoo against demon possession."

"No, I don't," she said. "I have one. I got it after your grandfather was possessed and killed by one."

Dean scrunched his face. "I've never seen it."

"You wouldn't have. It's not in a visible location."

"Oh." He blushed, but forged ahead. "Okay. I'll get you a gun. And a knife."

He moved briskly from his mother to get the weapons, calling to her without looking back. "And I'll call you Charlie."

oOoOoOo

Dean didn't know exactly why he decided to call his mother Charlie. It was the first name that popped into his head. Mary didn't ask and Dean didn't offer why he chose that name.

Charlie and his mother were so different, but they shared some common traits. They were both strong-willed women who were willing to risk their lives to help someone they loved. It never far from this thoughts that he was still around because Charlie risked her life for him. He was determined that his mother would not do the same.

He started calling his mom Charlie before they even left the bunker. He needed it to roll off his tongue, and she needed to answer to it. He gave her weapons — a .38 caliber pistol and one of his favorite knives — and helped her into an oversized hunting jacket that would hide her true size. She responded to the new name every time. Then he gave her a cell phone and taught her how to use it.

Sam left the Impala parked safely in the garage, and Mary eyed the car with interest. "I'm surprised this is still around."

"Dad gave it to me when I turned 16."

"You've taken good care of it," she noticed as she rubbed her hand over the hood.

"Just like Dad taught me," Dean answered, opening the passenger door for her. Her eyes scanned the empty car and he wondered if she could still imagine his dad in the driver's seat — just as he had countless times.

"Are you ready for this?"

She paused only a moment before she climbed into the seat. "I am."

Dean wished he could say the same.

oOoOoOo

The hour-long drive to Sam's location was heavy with silence. Since Cas left ahead of them to scout the area, it was just the two of them lost in their own thoughts. Just before their destination, Dean pulled over. His body was stiff with tension when he climbed out of the car and headed to the trunk.

Cas was already there, his eyes locked in the distance. Mary could see nothing but the trees that lined the road, but the angel was sensing something. Dean didn't acknowledge him and she dared not interrupt the angel as she eased past him.

Dean pillaged around the trunk until he brought out a metal baton. "We need to take out the guards quickly and quietly," he said as he handed it to her. "That means we need to avoid guns."

Their eyes locked only for a moment as she accepted the weapon. Aside from the tension emanating from him, his expression was unreadable.

"What will you use?"

"My fist."

The bite in his voice made her wince even though she knew it wasn't directed at her. She had no doubt that he had the physical strength and sufficient anger to kill a man with one punch if he felt led to. The goal, he said, was to only incapacitate the guards, but he made clear that she shouldn't feel an ounce of hesitation to kill if she felt threatened.

"Whatever it takes to get Sam out," he said, and she agreed completely. She had killed before, was willing to kill again. As long as her boys were safe, she would find no remorse in that. But she wondered how much blood her son had on his hands. She guessed Dean had not even begun to reveal how lethal he could become when pushed. She pulled her gaze away from his dark eyes to listen to his instructions.

"Once inside, we mark through any sigil that looks like this." He texted her the image and told her to memorize it. "Then we find Sam."

"Right."

"Once we find him, he may not be in good shape. Prepare yourself for that. Don't give yourself away because you're worried about him. Keep your cap on, pulled low, and keep your distance. We don't want to freak him out because he sees you. You'll have time for a reunion when we get him out safely."

"Okay." She tried to steady her voice but wasn't sure she did when the gruffness that defined his demeanor for the past hour eased.

"You ready for this?" His gentle voice was back, and she felt ashamed that she needed to hear it.

"I'll do what it takes to get Sammy back."

"Okay, then." He planted the rigid expression planted back on his face and called out to the angel.

"Cas, whaddya got?"

"About half a dozen guards. The house is inside a warded area. I won't be able to assist you unless you find the sigil on the grounds."

Dean turned back to Mary. "I'll take the guards, you look for the sigil. Got it?"

She agreed, but she didn't like the plan. How would he be able to take out six armed hunters? Yet she promised to follow his orders, and he wasn't offering any alternatives. She would, however, watch his back while she hunted for the mark.

She didn't expect the touch from the angel that would transport all of them to a bank of dense trees near a dilapidated house. She hardly had time to acclimate herself before Dean had taken down one of the guards with a simple but effective knock on the head with the butt of his gun.

Dean nodded to her and she followed him into a clearing. His moved swiftly, turning occasionally to make sure she was still with him. Her eyes were on the ground looking for anything resembling the sigil when she felt herself being grabbed from behind.

Dean was right in that she was rusty. In the old days, that never would have happened. But she found that the hunter's instincts came back easily. With a fluid motion, she swiped the baton to the side of the attacker's knee, and was pleased to hear a bone crack. The surprise of it forced the attacker to release her, and she followed up with a second hit against his head that laid him flat on the ground. She raised the baton, ready for make the third hit if he showed any signs of movement, but he lay still.

"Are you okay?"

She raised her head to see Dean with a panicked look that transformed into relief when he saw the hunter on the ground out for the count.

"I'm fine," she answered evenly, still stirred up from the heat of the moment. She ignored her son while she pulled out zip ties to secure the man's hands and feet. She followed that will a piece of duck tape over his mouth.

"Good," Dean said as she watched her, his lips tilting into a smile. He actually looked impressed, but his expression shifted again and he was back to business. He pulled the man behind some shrubbery and continued the path toward the house.

He was a few steps ahead of her when she stopped cold, her attention caught by a grouping of stones and carefully laid pine straw.

"Dean," she called out as she kicked away some of the straw with her boot. She took a step back and looked about 10 feet beyond her location. Dean followed her eyes to the sigil made of stones planted in the ground.

"Move a few stones. It should break the sigil," Dean commanded as he proceeded to lift one of the bigger, heavier rocks. Mary looked around to see if the angel had joined them.

"It must not be the only sigil," she said.

"Nothing's ever easy," Dean noted as he began to move forward again. They made it half way round the perimeter when Mary heard a buzz from Dean's pocket. He pulled it out and read a message. She followed his eyes up to the roof line of the house.

"A text from Cas," he explained. "It's up there. A sigil is on the roof."

He scanned the house for the easiest way up, his eyes landing on a ledge about 10 feet off the ground. He could probably make a running jump to catch the ledge and pull himself up. But that would leave Mary on the ground alone. He glanced around for a place for her to wait where she wouldn't be seen.

"Give me a boost," she said, drawing his attention back to her. He looked dumbly at her, not even considering that she would be the one to climb up the side of a house and onto the roof.

"I can reach the ledge if you can help," she suggested. He was already shaking his head when she gave him a glare. "I'm pretty fast and I'm lighter. I won't make as much noise."

Dean felt like defending himself. Despite his size, he knew how to tread lightly. His life depended on it.

"And you can keep watch," she added.

There was that. Several guards would still be an issue. She would be safer on the roof than on the ground. He showed his consent by kneeling to let her climb on his knee then to his shoulder. She would need his full six feet of height to reach the ledge. Her movements were fluid as she stepped onto his shoulders and pulled herself up.

He kept his eyes on her as she stepped onto a railing, ready to catch her if she fell. But it was obvious she didn't need help. Though he had met her as a hunter, his mind kept drifting back to the mother he knew before she died. The sweet, nurturing, perfect mother.

He tried to shake off those thoughts as he watched her disappear over the roofline. He lowered his head just a moment too late as he felt himself being slammed by a burly man about a half a foot taller and at least 50 pounds heavier. The hit knocked the breath out of him and left him sprawling on the ground gasping for air. Three armed men surrounded him, including the hulkish one who rammed into him.

He had little time to berate himself for his stupidity as the bottom of a boot came barreling toward his face.


	5. Chapter 5

**AN: Thanks so much for all of the kind reviews, favs and follows. I hope it continues to live up to your praise!**

* * *

 **Chapter 5**

Sam startled awake, his body bathed in sweat. The constant stab of pain in his abdomen reminded him that he was still alive. As did the throbbing in his skull.

He noticed he wore a clean t-shirt that he didn't remember putting on. He lifted the fabric to see a thin piece of gauze, stained with blood and pus, covering his wound. It was when he raised his hand to rub his temple that he realized he was no longer handcuffed to the bed.

He examined his hand as if it was a foreign object that didn't belong. His eyes moved up his arm, where he saw track marks made by needles — several injections spaced over the hours, or even days.

Though his sense of time was off, he remembered each hallucination vividly. Each started with the flash of light in his brain. Each vision was of someone he cared about – people he had lost in this life of saving people, hunting things. The family motto should have included 'losing family, losing friends.' Because this job had cost him everyone he loved.

If Toni Bevell wanted to torture him, the visions were the perfect way to do it.

Starting with Jessica. Though her death was so long ago, his heart still ached when he thought of her. He was lucid enough to know she wasn't real, yet he called her by name and uttered an apology for not protecting her all those years ago. He was baffled when her response was to ask about Dean.

When Sam didn't answer, she disappeared. Another pierce in his vein brought on another painful memory. A reminder of a relationship marked with too many arguments and not enough understanding. And a death that came too quickly for Sam to make amends.

 _Dad._

" _It's okay, son," he said. "I forgive you."_

Sam wished the sentiment was true. He believed perhaps it was his own mind giving him what he needed from his father. When John also asked about Dean, he wasn't surprised.

" _I need to find him, Sammy. Where is he?"_

"He's gone, Dad," Sam muttered, his eyes burning from threat of tears. He couldn't admit to the father that he disappointed so much that he couldn't save Dean. So he looked away, and John disappeared.

And another jab brought on the image of a life that ended by his hands, though not technically by his actions. _Kevin._

When Kevin also asked about Dean, Sam could only look away. It was too painful to think about the angel possession his brother had allowed.

When he opened his eyes, the prophet was gone, too.

And another prick of the needle ….

oOoOoOo 

Mary pulled herself onto the roof, glancing down to see her son still watching her. It was sweet and annoying at the same time. He was ready to catch her if she fell, but she needed him to understand that she was a good hunter in her day. And that day had not been so long ago for her. Yet how could she be angry that he wanted to protect her.

The more important matter of finding the sigil weighed on her, so she moved further onto the roof — out of Dean's sight. Standing in the middle of the house, she turned in a circle until she saw the sigil painted on the roof from one end of the house to the other. Removing a few shingles should do the trick, she decided. The knife Dean gave her was an adequate tool for the job.

A bad feeling tugged at her subconscious. Her head turned the side of the house where Dean waited. Four of the hunter guards remained, and even Dean wouldn't be able to fight all of them alone. One foot moved into that direction, but the rest of her body didn't follow. Breaking the sigil was more important. Cas could help help Dean and Sam if he could gain access to the premises.

As she knelt to pry the nails out of the first shingle, she heard a grunt. And shuffling. Followed by voices. Dean was not alone. Her heart raced as she returned her attention to the task at hand. One angel would help more than a worried mother or a rusty hunter.

oOoOoOo 

Even as Big Foot towered over him ready to stomp his face into the ground, Dean relied on his survival instincts and the image of his missing brother to spin out of the way. He grabbed at the attacker's ankle just before the foot touched down on the grass beside his head.

When big guys fall, they fall hard. This one hit the ground with a thud, striking his head on a rock. Dean huffed in relief, but shifted his focus to the two guards remaining. One was already advancing on him.

He tumbled away from the two goons and popped onto his feet behind them. He concentrated on the younger of the two, making his opponent stagger after a couple of well-aimed blows to the head. Just as Dean rared back to finish him off, he was grabbed from behind by the third man. He struggled against the arms that bound him in place, taking a punch to the face and a few to the gut from battered young guard.

A swift kick to the groan left the younger guard doubled over. Dean followed it with a kick to the head. Another one out for the count. One on one were easy odds for Dean.

He wasn't expecting the remaining guard to simply let go of his arms. He whipped around to face him and stopped short at the sight of a gun pointed at his head.

"It's true what they say about you, Winchester," the man said, unconcerned about his partners, who were still out for the count.

"Yeah?" Dean noticed the British accent before he registered the words. "Well, you can't believe everything you hear."

"Maybe not," the man said, rubbing the butt of the gun against his face before pointing back to his target. "But I have now have a first-hand account of your fighting skills. You held your own. Three against one. Impressive."

Dean shook off the compliment, sure there was an ulterior motive behind it. He had to wonder why they didn't shoot him in the first place — unless they wanted to see what kind of fighter he was. "Your friends were strong, but not very smart."

"I can't argue with that. Dumb as rocks, those two. The big one practically knocked himself out."

Dean snorted. The big guy was easy to take out, and he had a feeling the one in front of him didn't try very hard. That the Brit didn't enter the ruckus made Dean wonder if he was a hunter or one of the snobbish Men of Letters. At this point, it didn't matter which.

"Listen, man. I just came to get my brother. So let me by and I'll be out of your hair." He scanned his eyes over the Brit's bald head and added, "so to speak."

The Brit let out a dry chuckle as he rubbed his free hand over his head. "Can't let that happen. You and your brother need to answer for what you've done."

"So I've heard." Dean opened his arms as if to offer himself. "So why not take me out now?"

"Death seems to be a temporary state for you and your brother," he noted. "But torture … _that_ is the way to get answers. But your brother is a tough one to crack. He had me believing you were actually dead."

Dean blinked, but otherwise managed to keep his expression even. Though he suspected torture. Expected it. This was the first confirmation he had of it. The man was right about one thing — Sam's tough.

"He was tortured for over a year by Lucifer. You really think _you_ could break him," Dean tried to sound glib, wanting to show his contempt to those who held Sam captive.

"Good point. That's why we got creative."

The smirk fell from Dean's face. He had some experience getting creative with torture. _Creative_ ways to cause pain was never a good thing. Dean felt the panic simmering. He needed to save his little brother. Needed him to see the mother he never had a chance to know. He needed to make sure Sam didn't give up. Because Dean could not lose him now.

He allowed a glimpse to the roof but saw no sign of Mary. That scared him more than seeing her would have. Despite the hammering in his chest, he refused to show fear to this hunter or Man of Letters or whatever he was.

"Your partner up there?" the Brit asked nodding his head toward the roof. "Getting rid of the angel warding?"

"It's just me," Dean lied. Mary was still out of sight and Sam was running out time. He didn't have time for this son of a bitch to stand in his way.

"I don't believe you."

"I don't care," Dean shot back, irritated with the delay. And he was unsettled. Those three had every chance to take him in — subject him to the same torture Sam was getting now. He didn't have time to ponder what the true motive was. He needed to disarm the guy, and could think of only one way to do it. He let his eyes roam again to the roofline and prayed that Mary wouldn't make an appearance yet.

As if on cue, the man tilted his head and looked up, too. Dean leapt toward the hunter, plowing into him head first. Both hit the ground. Hard. They rolled over of each other a few times as they wrestled, each man trying to gain the upper hand and the control of the gun.

Dean froze when a shot rang out.

Dean laid motionless, trying to decide who had been hit when he realized that the only pain he felt was from the fight, not from a bullet. The Brit lifted himself up, his face registering surprise at the shot, but he was also uninjured.

Mary stood above them both with a literal smoking gun in her hand aimed at the sky. Despite her heavy breaths, her hand was steady. Dropping her arm, she trained the weapon toward her son's opponent. "Drop the weapon," she commanded.

As Dean lifted himself off the ground, Mary gave him only a passing glance, keeping her focus and the gun on the Brit as she spoke.

"You said no guns, but he was …."

"It's okay," Dean interrupted, not wanting to give this guy anymore information than he already had. He turned his focus on the man who was keeping him from Sam. "Put those hands where I can see 'em."

The Brit lifted his hands, holding his palms out in an exaggerated motion, training his eyes on Dean. "I'm surprised you could find someone to hunt with you — after what you did to Rudy."

Dean stiffened but he didn't respond. That was one of his worst moments when he had the Mark of Cain — egging on that vamp to kill Rudy. And it wasn't even the worst of what he had done. Dean didn't like how much this guy knew about him. And he was growing tired of his pompous blathering.

The Brit turned his attention to Mary. "What's your name sweetheart?"

"It's not sweetheart," Mary answered, unruffled. Her cold, hard eyes stared back.

"Fair enough." A smug grin spread across his face. "You know how to pick 'em, Dean. She's got a spark and she's easy on the eyes. I bet you'd like to hit that — if you haven't already."

"Shut up," Dean snarled. His jaw was set and his finger twitched on the trigger. He was being baited. He knew it. But the son of a bitch had taken it a step too far, and Dean wanted nothing more than to empty the bullets into the bastard.

The hunter raised his eyebrow. "Looks like I hit a nerve." He grinned as he moved his gaze back to Mary. "You should be careful. People around Dean Winchester tend to die."

When Mary didn't react, he tried again with Dean. "Does she know about the havoc you and your brother have created? About the deaths you've caused. Does she know about Charlie? The prophet, Kevin Tran? Your surrogate father, Bobby? Or your real Dad, who died …."

A pistol lash to the side of the face was enough to silence the Brit. "I said shut up." Dean's voice was deep and brittle as he watched the bastard fall face first into the grass.

Mary stared at her son, her eyes wide, but he wouldn't meet her gaze.

"Let's go," he said, his tone dark. He sucked in air through gritted teeth, struggling to get himself back in control. That gunshot alerted anyone in the house to their presence. "They probably know we're here. We need to get Sam out _now_ — with or without Cas."

oOoOoOo 

Sam heard the shot, but didn't bother to guess what might have happened. It wasn't Dean. Couldn't have been Dean. So he didn't as much as lift his head at the sound.

His mind was too busy reliving the hallucinations he had. At first, he was overwhelmed by seeing the people he had lost. They weren't real. He understood that. They were not ghosts talking to him. The things they said were not their thoughts. But the pain he felt at seeing each of them was profound.

He believed, at first, that their words were reflections of his own guilt and his own grief.

The most heartbreaking vision was of Charlie — the person who's death was truly on his head. Though he felt much guilt about leaving Jessica to help Dean, it was the demon who killed her. Despite the turbulent relationship with his father, John made the decision to die to save Dean. And Kevin was killed by Gadreel, not him.

But Charlie was different. Sam's actions that put her in harm's way. His decision to save Dean no matter the price cost Charlie her life. When her likeness appeared to him, it didn't matter that real Charlie couldn't hear him. He needed to say the apology that Dean wouldn't allow when they placed on her on the pyre.

When Charlie also asked about Dean, it made sense, because she died to save him.

But Sam began to question his assumption when Bobby appeared. Sam missed his surrogate father as much as the day he died. He often considered what they could have done differently when Bobby was shot by Dick Roman. But he felt only sorrow, not guilt, for what happened.

And Sam even expected Bobby to ask about his brother.

"Sammy, I need to find Dean," Bobby — or rather the vision of Bobby — said.

But Sam didn't answer, too caught up in the fact that Bobby called him a nickname used by his brother and his father, but not by Bobby himself. The old man called him 'Sam'. Or 'boy'. Or 'son' or 'idjit'. Maybe 'knucklehead' a time or two. But never Sammy. At least not that he could remember. If Sam couldn't remember it, then the vision wouldn't be saying it.

For hours, Sam sat on the lumpy mattress with his back against a wall — ignoring his the pain in his body and the all-consuming grief — wondering why Bobby called him Sammy. He turned it over and over in his head. The revelation hit. The words were not created from Sam's mind.

The injections they gave him caused him to see the people he loved. Hear their voices. But the words were coming from his captors.

He didn't know what they wanted — except to break him. Make him weak. Perhaps they waited for him to reveal information about their hunts or to find Dean. Maybe all of this was just to torture him.

Whatever they wanted, Sam vowed not to give it to them.

Sam tilted his head against the wall dreading the hallucination that was sure to come. Of all the people he had lost, only one left him with a grief so raw that — should he appear — might leave him a whimpering mess. That vision, he knew, could break him.

And if it came, it would the sign for Sam that it was time to give up the fight. _If one couldn't survive without the other …._

But he would fight for one thing — control of his mind so he could die without giving his captors what they wanted.

His chest constricted when that face appeared and that voice spoke his name. And Sam discovered that it was infinitely more difficult than he could have imagined to remember that this was an illusion. His face was more vivid than the others. His voice more strained than it should have been. It was as if his breath gave way at the sight of the sick, weakened brother in the bed.

"Sammy."

 _No. No. No. No._ This was too hard and the voice sounded too real. Sam shut his eyes to the sight, but he couldn't stop himself from mumbling the name that had been on the tip of his tongue since this nightmare began.

"Dean."


	6. Chapter 6

**AN: Sorry it's been while since my last update. I had hoped to publish this chapter before the season premiere, but I couldn't quite get it together. Any similarities with episode 12x1 are coincidental. Thanks so much to those who continue to read, review, follow and favorite this!**

* * *

 **Chapter 6**

Dean walked a few steps ahead of Mary. His rigid shoulders told her that what the British hunter said was true. Dean felt responsible for quite a few deaths, including his father's. And, she noted, someone named Charlie.

If Dean hadn't knocked him out, she would have shot him — through the heart — to silence him. Now that she was back, she would not allow anyone to cause her son that kind of pain. She felt the urge to rush Dean and tell him that she didn't care what happened in the past. The life of a hunter, she knew as well as anyone, was filled with difficult choices. But Sam was running out of time, so she let the feeling pass.

She had been so focused on Dean that she almost missed it — the remaining sigil that kept Castiel off the grounds. She called out in a low voice, careful not to attract more attention that she had already.

He turned to her, his brows drawn together and his jaw set. She nodded to a patch of grass — a sigil cut like a labyrinth into the lawn. Rather than wait for his instructions, she used the metal baton to dig up clumps of grass. Dean knelt across from her, using a knife to help break the warding.

The angel appeared about a minute later, announcing that he incapacitated guards who were in pursuit of them as well as those Mary and Dean encountered earlier.

"You'll have to deal with those inside," Cas said, "but the odds are better for you now."

"Okay," Dean answered with a curt nod. He looked calm. Acted focused. But Mary could sense an eruption simmering just below the surface. He held his knife in his right hand, ready to strike at some unforeseen threat while his left fist curled and uncurled.

"Do you know where he is?" Dean scanned the house for the best way to enter without being seen.

"My guess is the basement. It's more heavily warded than the rest of the house." Cas pointed them to a cellar window near the foundation of the house. The window, only about two feet high, was covered with iron bars in the shape of the angel warding sigil.

"Looks like we found the right place," Dean noted as he grabbed the metal baton in Mary's hand, expeditiously snapping the bolts that held the bars into place.

He opened the window and Mary stepped through first. It would be a tight fit for her oldest, but she assumed he had maneuvered small spaces before. She eased through and encountered two arm women.

Without hesitation, she stabbed one woman in the chest and spun around to face the second. The goal, Dean told her, was only to incapacitate. The hell with that. She was tired of this. Tired of worrying about whether they could reach Sam in time. Tired of the sorrow and anxiety oozing from Dean like a wound that had been festering for years. She was ready to take down anyone who stood between her and her children.

By the time Dean made it through the window, her weapon was plunged into the second attacker. Her mouth hung open, ready to explain herself to Dean, but found she didn't need to. He took note of the bodies on the floor and the blood her knife with an impassive expression. Her ability as a hunter no longer seemed to surprise him. In the short time they had been looking for Sam, Dean learned to take it for what it was and didn't question her. Mary supposed that was progress from her overprotective son.

He dipped his head in approval and led the way to a closed door marked by angel warding.

oOoOoOoO

Dean marked through the sigil on the door, looking around to see if Cas could gain entry. Of course he couldn't because nothing would be easy about this rescue.

He registered how effortless it was for Mary to take down the women blocking her way to Sam. He was glad that she acted so swiftly. He, too, was ready to kill anyone who stood in his way. He wanted to gank the Brit in the yard because he knew too much and he talked too much. But since the Mark of Cain, Dean made a vow to himself that he would only kill what needed killing. That the Brit said things he didn't like wasn't a good enough reason to finish him off.

But if Sam didn't make it, all bets were all. Dean would take out the entire British Men of Letters. And he wouldn't need the Mark of Cain to do it.

He glanced around the room looking for other threats, then to Mary to make sure she was ready for whatever was on the other side of that door.

"If Sam's there," he whispered, "remember to keep your distance. We clear the room first. You look for sigils and let me do the rest."

"I understand."

Dean leaned in to listen for any sign of life, not liking the silence beyond the door. It took great restraint for him to not burst through, blasting anyone who got in his way. But he forced himself to open the door slowly, his gun trained at anything that might attack.

He scanned the small, windowless, dank space until his eyes rested on the unmoving, pale body of his brother. He could feel Mary beside him - staring in the same direction - at the still form on the bed. When they saw Sam's chest rise and fall, the breath she blew out mirrored how Dean felt. Sheer relief that they weren't too late. But Sam wasn't looking good.

Despite his urge to rush to him, Dean knew the best way to get Sam out was to get Cas in. He dragged his gaze from his brother to look around for anything that prevented the angel from entering. A large sigil was painted on the wall opposite from Sam, but it was too obvious to be the only warding.

He pivoted around, searching for any other signs of warding when he noticed Mary's eyes locked on Sam. Dean had gotten the message that she was a good hunter. But at that moment, he only saw a mother looking at the sick, possibly dying, son that she hadn't seen in more than 30 years. If she needed a minute, he would make sure she got it. He rested a light hand on her back as he brushed by her to take care of the warding himself. Fingers clutching his arm brought him to a stop.

"Take care of Sam," she said. Tears clung to her lashes as she spoke, but her voice was steady. "I'll look for the sigils."

Dean sucked in a breath at the choice of words that sounded so much like what his father would say. _Take care of Sammy._ He had spent his life trying to do just that — yet his little brother was again in danger. If he couldn't save Sam, how would he ever face his mother? Or himself.

Mary broke away before Dean had time to acknowledge her words. He turned his attention back to his brother, who sat motionless on the bed with his head tilted against the wall. A groan finally propelled Dean toward him.

"Sammy."

Sam cracked open his bleary eyes and screwed them shut again, mumbling Dean's name.

"Hey, hey." Dean lowered himself on the mattress beside Sam. "Come on, brother. Look at me."

"No. You're not here." Sam slurred his words and turned away.

"I _am_ here, man." Dean pushed hair out of Sam's eyes, letting his hand rest on the side of his brother's head, hissing at the hot skin against his palm. "You're burning up."

When Sam still wouldn't respond, Dean lifted his t-shirt, searching for wounds and a cause for his infection. His eyes dropped to the thin gauze covering his abdomen. Sam winced when Dean pulled back the edges but otherwise ignored the ministrations.

"Son of a bitch," he cursed at the swollen, draining wound. It looked bad and it was enough to cause the fever, but he expected more injuries. The Brit implied that Sam was tortured. He still didn't see evidence of that — until Sam batted at him to stop the poking and prodding.

Dean rubbed a gentle hand up the arm and over needle marks. "Geesh, Sam. What did they do to you?"

"Stop, please," Sam muttered. His eyes twitched, fighting to keep them closed as though it was painful to open them.

"Come on, man." Dean placed his hands on either side of Sam's face in an effort to get his attention. "Look at me. I'm here."

Sam responded with a brusque shake of his head.

"Sam." Dean tried to make himself sound authoritative. Bossy even. But his words came out as more of a plea. "I need you to look at me."

His words finally got Sam to open his eyes, but it didn't get the response the older brother wanted.

"You're not Dean. He's dead."

"No, I'm not dead. I'm here. For _you_. I'm not some kind of vision. I'm _really_ here."

Dean maintained a hard gaze, willing his little brother to believe him. It was apparent they injected Sam with some kind of drug. Something that made him disbelieve what he saw. It reminded Dean of the Lucifer hallucinations, when Sam didn't know reality from fiction. It left a pit in his stomach to think that those who kidnapped him found a way to bring back the visions of hell.

"Look at me, Sam," the older brother begged.

Sam scanned his face from the top of his unruly hair — thanks to the fight outside earlier — over his face and finally settled on the scar on his chin that was nearly hidden by days worth of stubble. Dean saw a flicker of hope spread over the clouded eyes staring back at him. Without speaking, Sam held out his hand — the one with scar in the center of the palm. The one that helped him keep Lucifer at bay for months.

It took a second for Dean to realize what he wanted. He grabbed his hand and pushed the old wound, letting his fingernail sink into the flesh. He wasn't gentle. He wanted Sam to feel the pain. Because that that pain would ground his brother to reality.

Sam squinted as the thumb pressed into his skin, letting eyes follow the hand up the denim clad arm to the determined expression on the face that looked like his brother's. The gruff voice, laced with tension, sounded like his brother. It held a note of something that was different from the other visions. Less control. More emotion.

"This is real, Sammy."

The voice was husky, somewhat brittle. It was how his brother always sounded when Sam was in trouble. The face more tangible than those he had seen before. And the others had not touched him. He felt the hair brushed from his eyes and the hand left to rest on the side of his head. That was the brand of affection that surfaced when Sam had been too sick or too hurt or too close to dying — as he was now.

So he dared to hope. He never thought he would see Dean again after he went to hell. Or purgatory. Or at least half of those 100 times he died at the amusement of the Trickster.

Sam spoke the name in just more than a whisper.

"Dean?"

"That's right, buddy." A shadow of a smile crossed the older brother's lips, though his eyes still betrayed his anxiety. "It's me. We're going to get you out of here and Cas will fix you up."

"How did you …?" He started to ask how his brother survived the bomb of souls when he caught the image just over Dean's shoulder of someone long lost to him. She was someone he barely knew but loved whole-heartedly. Someone who influenced him in ways that shaped the person he had become. Someone who gave her life to save him.

And she could not be here.

His gaze shifted back to the image in front of him. "You're not real," he said, broken by the realization. Dean wasn't coming to save him. He turned away, tilting his head against the wall and away from the hallucination. All hope. All willingness to keep fighting drained away.

"My brother is dead."

oOoOoOo

"Sam," Dean called out softly at first, then more forcefully. "Sam!"

Mary's hand flew to her mouth as she realized what she had done. Dean told her to stay back. Not be seen. Sam wouldn't be ready for that. But she was riveted by watching her boys. The connection they shared was apparent from the moment Dean began speaking to his brother. The despair in Sam's eyes transformed to hope when he believed Dean was with him.

Because of her, grief clouded her boy's face again.

Dean laid a hand on Sam's neck and called his name once more. But the younger brother had shut down. His hand dropped to the shoulder, resting there as he looked back to see what caught Sam's attention.

"I'm sorry," Mary said.

"Don't worry about it."

She couldn't see his face when he spoke, but she detected disappointment in his voice. He let the hand drop, severing his link with Sam, and pivoted to face her.

"What about the sigils?"

"I found three." She gestured to the warding that had been broken. "But Cas is still not here."

"We gotta get Sam out now." Dean's brow was knotted in thought. "If we can get him back through that window, Cas can get him to safety."

Mary glanced at her tall, muscular son who looked too weak to stand and wondered how they would manage that. She glanced around again, hoping she could spot what she missed as Dean sunk down on the bed and spoke to Sam.

"We're getting you out of here, okay?"

He got no response.

"Sam. I'm doing this with or without your help," Dean tried again. The lack of a reaction brought a sigh from Dean. "My back will not appreciate this. Just you know."

Dean tugged on Sam's t-shirt to pull him forward. "Son of a bitch," he barked as he eased his brother back down. When he pulled down the edge of Sam's t-shirt, Mary saw it. A small sigil carved into his chest next to his tattoo.

Mary gasped when Dean pulled out his knife. "What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to cut it and pray that it's not bound to his heart."

"And if it is?"

"Then Cas won't be able to help save him. Or heal him. Hell, he may never be able to even be around Sam."

In all her years of hunting, Mary had never heard of such a thing. "How do you know?"

"I met someone who had one," he answered, turning the knife and his attention back to his brother. "I'm sorry, Sammy."

With more ease than Mary would have expected, Dean sliced the skin that bore the mark.


	7. Chapter 7

**AN: Sorry this chapter has taken a while. It just wasn't coming together. Thanks for reading and reviewing!**

* * *

 **Chapter 7**

* * *

Sam was little more than a dead weight against Dean. Not unconscious but not coherent and certainly not cooperating. Dean understood that if Sam thought he was hallucinating, it was defiance that made him shut down. Even in this state, he wasn't willing to give into his captor's torture. He was proud of him for that. But it would nice if he would help out just a little.

As it was, Dean half-carried, half-dragged Sam to the closest piece of furniture and eased his oversized brother in it. He leaned over the slumped figure, putting a hand on either side of the chair, to make sure he would stay put. And maybe to catch his breath, too.

The pit in his stomach had grown to the size of a melon. He was tired and he was scared, though he took care not to let it show. He didn't want to add to Mary's worry. In the briefest of motions, he patted Sam's knee before he pulled himself upright. With a groan, he leaned back to stretch his aching back.

"Are you alright?" Mary asked, bringing him out of his trance. He realized that her eyes were transfixed on him. His mother had been quiet, really quiet, since Sam saw her. And Dean was consumed with getting Sam out of there. Though he was constantly aware of her — making sure she would be safe, too — he hadn't acknowledged her. He felt a pang of guilt for that.

"Yeah," he answered,. The aches he felt were par for the course, and relatively mild. "I'm fine. You?"

She nodded and shifted her anxious gaze back to Sam, who was not in the least okay.

"Cas …," Dean called only to find him standing by him with a hand extended toward his head. He backed away, not wanting any of the angel's healing power until his brother was well.

"Sam first." Dean assumed that Cas could take care of Sam's injuries since he was able to get them out of that basement, though it had taken Cas some time to appear. Dean had hoisted Sam out of bed, planning to haul him to the exit when the angel showed up.

Without speaking, Cas pulled Mary close to Dean and transported them all back to the bunker.

"Sam was warded against me." It was a statement from Cas, not a question.

"Yeah, but I cut through sigil."

"I can still feel some power from it," Cas said, standing several feet from Sam.

"You got him out of there." Dean heard the slight rise in his voice and struggled to tap down the his panic. The whole plan was to get Sam safely back to the bunker and let Cas take care of the rest.

"I got _you_ out. You were holding on to him," Cas explained. "The good news is that the remaining power in the sigil did not prevent Sam from coming along."

Dean dragged hand down his face. "Okay. Just see what you can do. I don't want to take him to the hospital if I can help it. We need to stay here, hunkered down, until we figure out what to do next."

Even as he said the words, Dean realized that the Men — or Women — of Letters could come in any time they wanted because they had a key to the place. Cas seemed to have the thought at the same time.

"You need to …," Cas stared

"I know," he answered as he headed toward the mechanical room.

"What are you going to do?" Mary asked.

Dean paused only a moment. "I'm going to lock down the bunker. Nobody in. Nobody out."

Seconds later, a shrill sound filled the space. Cas waved a hand to silence the alarm as Dean darted back to the library. The room held the same tension as it did a moment before. He noticed that Sam had not stirred at the loud noise and Cas had not made a move toward him yet. Mary stood back, still watching Sam as if she would never see him again.

"Okay," he breathed as he pulled out his knife. Something needed to happen. A hospital would be too dangerous, and if Cas couldn't get close, that sigil would have to go. Sam let out a soft moan as if to protest the plan. Before he could talk himself out of it, Dean moved closer and sliced through the sigil again — this time deeper than before.

His eyes focused on the blood seeping through his t-shirt until Cas stepped between them, placing two fingers on this brother's forehead. Sam slumped into unconsciousness at the angel's touch. "He'll be more comfortable while I examine him."

Dean sunk into a chair, exhausted, while he watched Cas do his thing. A hand hovered first over the infected abdomen where Sam had been shot. Cas squinted in concentration as a bullet popped out of Sam's wound into the angel's grasp.

"Bastards," Dean muttered, annoyed that they didn't bother to remove the bullet. It was little wonder Sam was so sick. He cut a glance to Mary, who was staring from a few feet away, a hand to her mouth. Though she was silent, her eyes didn't stray from Sam. Dean was pretty sure she doubted whether the angel could fully heal him.

Dean had doubted it, too, when he made the first cut into Sam's skin to break the sigil and Cas didn't immediately appear. He remembered Delphine, the Woman of Letters during World War II who was ready to die so Dean could take the Hand of God back to the future to destroy the Darkness. The only way to break the warding on her was to kill her.

The entire escapade had been an exercise in futility. The Hand of God wouldn't have worked on Amara anyway. In the end, it didn't need to. The only take-away was watching a brave woman sacrifice herself to save others.

This Woman of Letters from London who took his brother had no idea about self-sacrifice. She had not a fraction of the honor that the Men of Letters had when Delphine was among their ranks. And, thankfully, she didn't have the intelligence or the forethought to make the sigil a permanent part of Sam. Because, after a couple of minutes, Cas did appear.

But for those two minutes, Dean worried about how to get Sam out without help from Cas and if he could even survive a car ride back to the bunker. And whether he would need a hospital, which meant he would be exposed to another attack from the Men of Letters. And, if they couldn't find a way to safely break the warding on Sam, Cas would be banned from his life.

While all these thoughts swirled through his head, he hauled up his brother, pushing down all of his distress until he could get Sam and Mary out. Finally. _Finally_. Cas showed up.

Even now, healing Sam seemed to be more difficult than Dean expected. What normally took a a few seconds and a simple touch was requiring much more from the angel. The bullet was gone. His complexion was better. Mary dared to ease forward, placing a gentle hand on her youngest son's cheek.

"The fever's gone," she said, letting her fingers linger.

"So he's okay?" Dean asked.

Cas hesitated before he answered. Placing a palm on Sam's forehead, Dean wasn't sure if he was still trying to heal him or read his mind. The angel let out a disgusted grunt. "I believe they put a spell on the drug they gave him."

Dean was on his feet again. "What kind of spell?"

Cas touch the head again, deep in concentration. "I believe it caused hallucinations of people he's lost over the years."

"But not Lucifer," Dean said, and Mary snapped her head toward him, her mouth gaped open.

"I don't think so," Cas answered.

"That's something." Dean sighed, relieved that, regardless of what else happened, they wouldn't have to deal that again.

"What he did see was distressing to him," Cas emphasized, his palm still against Sam's forehead.

"Well, he doesn't break easy," Dean said, with an inflated sense of confidence. He actually thought Sam was too damned close to giving up.

"No, he doesn't," Cas echoed, pulling his head away. Dean looked up to his friend, he eyebrows raised hopefully. He expected Cas to tell him why Sam wouldn't be okay. Bracing himself for some sort of struggle ahead that he would need to overcome, because it seemed that for most of the past how many years, one of them had something to get past.

"I managed to clear most of the drug from his body. He'll be fine when he wakes up." Cas looked more at ease than he had since Dean returned with Mary in tow.

"Thank God," Dean breathed, even as he wondered if it should amend that to the more God's preferred moniker of Chuck or if he should just thank Cas.

But Mary took care of that for Dean as she stepped toward Cas, startling him by wrapping her arms around his shoulders and proclaiming an enthusiastic thank you. The angel gradually raised his arms to return the hug, giving her back a few pats, and said, "You're welcome."

 **oOoOoOo**

Sam was first aware of light. For the past few days, he had grown accustomed to the dim, gloomy space where he had been confined. The luminescence seeped through his closed lids. Then he noticed the pain gone. And he wasn't shivering anymore. Except for some grogginess, he felt pretty good.

Though he remembered the visions of his dead family and friends, he no longer felt the effects of the drug. He pried his eyes open, recognizing his location straightaway. His first sight was of the large telescope that adorned the Men of Letters library.

His mind ran through several explanations for being out of that dingy basement and back in the closest thing he had to a home. He wondered if his captors had finished with him and deposited him back where they found him or if Cas had rescued him. Or maybe this was all just a dream. Or another hallucination.

A painful strain to his back motivated him to sit up, noticing that he had been slumped in one of the leather wingback chairs. Glancing down to see blood dried to a rusty brown on this t-shirt, he lifted it to examine his wound. His fingers grazed the clear skin that showed no evidence that he was shot.

"Cas took care of that."

He head snapped toward the sound of Dean's voice. The familiar face was sitting a couple of feet from him with one leg propped onto the other knee.

"Welcome back, Sammy."

Sam didn't answer, not sure if his mind was playing tricks. Maybe he had succumbed to the infection. If he was seeing his brother who was dead, Sam thought that he also had died. Though he couldn't explain to himself why the bunker would be the Empty. Or Heaven. Or Hell, for that matter.

But he could be stuck in the veil. And if Dean was stuck, too, he'd take that as a win. He gripped the arms of the chair, not sure whether he could trust his senses.

"Take it easy, man," Dean dropped his leg to the floor and leaned forward. He was wearing the same clothes he wore when he left the cemetery to destroy Amara and the same disheveled look of when he appeared to him while he was held captive. His voice held a note of irony when he said, "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Have I?" Sam asked cautiously. "I mean, are you …?"

The corner of Dean's mouth curled upward. "No. I'm alive. Amara and Chuck worked it out, so …."

"They what? How?"

"I convinced Amara to talk it out with Chuck."

Sam gaped at Dean. "You persuaded _The Darkness_ in to talking it out with God?" He decided that maybe he was be dreaming.

"Yeah. I know it sounds crazy, but yeah."

Sam stood, resisting the urge to reach out and touch his brother just to see he was a solid form or some spirit that would fade away. He thought briefly about finding some salt — just to be sure.

"She healed Chuck and fixed the sun," Dean said, rising with Sam. "He took out the bomb and they went off for some family time."

"Family time," Sam repeated, not sure how those words would apply to God and his sister.

"I came back to find out that you were taken. So we got you back and Cas healed you." Dean took a cautious step forward, leaving a foot of space between them. "It's over, man. We're all good — for a change."

Sam moved toward Dean, standing just a few inches from him. It made sense that Cas could heal him and Dean seemed real. If anyone could survive a date with the Darkness, it would be his brother. His head was clear, not thick and foggy as it had been when he saw the hallucinations. As he started to believe that Dean actually survived, the heaviness that had been solid in his chest began to dissipate.

"You're okay?" Sam asked.

"I'm awesome," Dean said.

And he did look good, but Sam could sense there was more he wanted to say. Something big enough that made Dean hesitate. But Sam didn't want to hear it yet. The world hadn't ended and Dean didn't have to sacrifice himself to save it. The sense of relief was so overpowering that he bounded into his brother, practically lifting him off the floor.

"Okay," Dean murmured as he returned the embrace, without complaining about another sappy moment. Sam, in fact, felt his arms tighten firmly around him.

After a few seconds, Dean pulled away, giving Sam a solid pat on his arm. With a look that was a mixture of amusement and exhaustion, Dean asked, "You good now?"

Sam let out a embarrassed huff. "Yeah. I didn't mean to …," he stammered out. He shifted his gaze as his shoulders sagged. "I didn't believe you. I didn't think you were real — when you came to save me."

Dean brushed off the comment with a shrug. "I know they drugged you — made you hallucinate. But I was there."

"I almost believed you, but I saw something else. Someone who wasn't real."

"She _was_ real, Sam."

"You don't understand," the younger brother shook his head. "You don't know what I saw."

"I know who you saw," Dean said, "because she was with me."

"No," Sam contradicted, convinced that he and his brother were having two different conversations. Or maybe the drugs were still messing with his head. And he wanted to tell Dean that, but he instead stood before him slack-faced and confused.

As his brother was talking, still trying to explain, Sam saw her again. He tuned out everything else, including the sound of Dean's voice. She was standing in the doorway, dressed like an ordinary mother in a pair of jeans and a black sweater. She looked decidedly not ghostly.

He glanced at Dean again to see if he was still there, considering again that all of this was just another vision and he was still locked up in the basement. He followed Dean's eyes back to their mother.

"She's back, Sammy," he heard his brother say. "Mom's alive."

 **oOoOoOoO**

Dean told her to wait just for a few minutes. He wanted to break it to Sam — let him know that she wasn't a vision and that he wasn't hallucinating again. But the wait was excruciating. So she slipped through the kitchen to the map room and pressed herself against the wall.

Mary needed to know her that youngest boy, her baby, was okay.

She held her breath, not allowing any sound from her mouth. And she listened. A light moan indicated that Sam was waking up. And then she heard Dean's steady voice assure his brother that they both were safe.

The few words from Sammy's mouth did nothing to relieve her anxiety. Dean promised her that Castiel's touch was enough to heal everything — including the remnants of the sigil. "If Cas says he good, then he's good," Dean said simply. Then he sent her out of the room.

She needed to see for herself. Her feet shifted, slowly and quietly, to the edge of doorway. She pressed her body against the wall, easing her head past the door jamb until she could see her boys. Neither son noticed her, so she watched. They were two grown men — tall and rugged — but she saw them as her children. Dean, her little boy, did his best to explain the events that brought them here while her baby took it in all — confusion turning to trust and then to elation and finally to skepticism when he learned that his mother was alive again.

Without realizing it, she moved from behind the wall into plain sight. And Sam saw her. With a gasp, she thought about hiding again, but it was too late. Wide eyes gaped at her as she took a tentative step forward.

Sam glanced to his brother for confirmation — or perhaps for permission. But when Dean nodded his head, it was all Sam needed. His long legs took several quick strides forward and he scooped her up in the folds of his arms.


	8. Chapter 8

_**AN: This chapter has taken me so much longer to update than I expected. I really didn't intend to keep you in suspense for 7 weeks. I've had a busy schedule combined with a lack of inspiration. What started as a short 3-4 chapter speculative story has turned into 9 chapter (at least I'm almost sure it'll be 9 chapters) slightly AU story. Though I may touch on some of what has happened with Mary, I'm staying pretty much in line with what I planned before season 12 began. Thanks to all who continue to read, follow and review. Reviews are so much appreciated!**_

* * *

 **Chapter 8**

Sam and Mary were deep in conversation. Cas was somewhere taking care of something. And Dean considered a taking shower, drinking a lot of whiskey and falling into bed to sleep for days — in no particular order. He swiped a hand down his face to clear the fog from his brain and thought perhaps he needed to add a shave to the list.

Pulling his eyes up, he jumped when Cas appeared inches from him.

"Geez, Cas," he grumbled. "A little warning. Make some noise or something."

Cas took note of the sparse distance between them and took a step back.

"Thank you." Dean's tone was biting with sarcasm but nonetheless drew a "you're welcome" from the angel.

Dean swiped a hand along the back of his neck, trying to rub away the tension that wouldn't ease. Despite his headache, a rumble in his stomach reminded him he hadn't eaten in days. And Cas was still hovering.

Dean blinked, blowing out a long breath. He didn't want to snap at the angel who just saved his brother. Clearly, he had something to say.

"What is it, Cas?"

"Your headache is from a subdural hematoma," the angel responded. "Your neck hurts because you twisted it when were body slammed against the ground.

A groan escaped the hunter's lips.

"You have multiple contusions, cuts and scraps."

Dean ran through his mental list of how to spend the evening and pushed whiskey to the top. Stepping back from Cas, he reached for a bottle.

"And alcohol won't make you feel better," Cas added.

"It won't hurt," Dean deadpanned as he screwed open the cap.

"Sam is healed. Mary was unharmed." Cas was particularly persistent. "Let me help you."

"I'm good."

"Dean …." His voice held a note of rebuke.

"I'm fine!" Dean's voice pitched up. His head hurt like hell, but a little food and some sleep would take care of that. He surveyed the bourbon in his hand, and grimaced at the unexpected twist of his stomach at the thought of drinking it. Damn it. He wanted to get wasted and not feel anything. But he had a mother to think about now. And that was just the beginning.

He told Sam everyone was good, but that wasn't quite true. Threat from the British Men of Letters still loomed and they needed a way to secure the bunker without being held hostage in their own home. Lucifer was out there somewhere and he owed Crowley a favor. But even more troubling, his relationship with his mom was forced. He knew she felt it, too. But the focus had been on finding Sam. All the adrenaline that kept Dean going burned away a long time ago.

As much as he wanted to tap out for a few hours, he didn't have that luxury. But getting rid of the headache and healing the subdural hema-whatever would be a good start.

"Okay," Dean conceded. The angel pushed two fingers into his forehead, and he felt the energy seep through his body. He muttered a begrudged thank you.

Cas still stared and Dean sighed in capitulation. "What else?" he asked.

"I'm going to check out the Men of Letters. Discover what I can about them and find out if they're still an immediate threat."

Dean nodded, encouraged by the offer. If Cas could do that, maybe he could get some sleep for a few hours. "Yeah. Good idea."

"And you should eat something."

"I have a mother now," Dean said, reaching again for the bottle. If he wanted to sleep, he needed to relax, and the whiskey seemed the quickest way to do that. "I don't need another one."

The angel cocked his head and Dean felt his eyes bore straight through him. He didn't have the energy to keep his guard up. Cas apparently wasn't going to leave him alone until he spilled his guts.

"She and Sam are ….," Dean began, groaned at the of envy that spiked through him. "I promised her she would have all the time she needed when him after we got him out."

"And you and she haven't spoken much since Sam came back."

"Well, I guess they have a lot to talk about," Dean muttered as he poured a shot. "I don't want to intrude."

Cas kept his eyes locked on the Winchester brother for another few seconds before he averted his eyes. Dean slumped in relief. That was all the sharing and caring he could handle at the moment.

"I made some sandwiches for the three of you," Cas pointed his head toward the kitchen. "I should be back by morning."

"Thanks," Dean said, sincerely. "If you need back up …."

"I'll be fine."

Dean removed the security from the bunker and waited for the angel to disappear before enabling it again. His sucked in a breath and pressed his eyelids together for a few seconds, gathering the strength to say goodnight to his mother and brother.

oOoOoOo

Sam had so many questions, but he pulled back his curiosity and just watched his mother. He had seen her before. As a young woman. As a ghost. As a vision of Dean's in Heaven. But to have her in front of him — flesh and blood within reach — she was more than he imagined. Dean was right. Everything he ever said about her was spot on.

Her eyes never left him as she spoke.

"You wanted to quit hunting." She seemed unsure of whether she should broach the topic.

"I did. For awhile." Sam decided not to keep secrets. He wanted to answer any question she asked, even the difficult ones. But this topic was grueling for him. It conjured memories of Jessica's death and images of leaving Dean for dead in Purgatory. Not to mention the years he spent waiting for an out that would never come. "For a long time, I was looking toward the day I could walk away from it."

"Why didn't you?" Her eyes were warm and he felt he could be completely truthful with her. But he didn't want to overwhelm her. He could talk about the thirst for revenge after Jessica and after Dean went to hell — or any of the dozens of dire circumstances they faced over the years. One thing after another kept him for having a normal life. Eventually, he accepted it as his destiny and learned to be content with it.

"Hunting is what we do," Sam said simply. "It's our life."

"It didn't have to be." Mary spoke as if she was speaking words that shouldn't be said. "It still doesn't have to be."

He met her gaze with a tilted smile. "I tried to get out. Dean and I both tried. It didn't work."

"Dean stopped hunting?"

Sam withheld a chuckle at the one thing his mother already had learned about his big brother. Hunting was Dean's life. He could no more tear himself away from the life than he could his own skin. He was beaten and battered by it. Had lost nearly everything to this life and kept returning to it anyway.

"Yeah. It didn't last long." Sam didn't elaborate on Dean's year with Lisa and Ben. That was Dean's to explain. Mary's eyes lifted as she clung to the hope that her boys could live ordinary lives.

"I don't think about leaving hunting anymore," he said. "It's not perfect life by any means. We've missed out on having normal lives and families, but there's honor in what we do. We keep fighting for the people who need help and we keep fighting for each other. Dean and have been through a lot, but we're closer because of it."

Mary scanned his face, searching for more of what was left unsaid. But, to Sam's relief, she let it go.

"Tell me about your brother."

Her face brightened, and he relaxed. She wasn't looking for dirty secrets. She just wanted to know them better, and he guessed she asked Dean the same question about him.

"He's …," he paused, thinking of the perfect adjective that would describe his complicated brother.

"Awesome." Dean's voice barreled through the silence to answer the question before Sam had the chance. He strode through the library with a plate in either hand, a playful grin on his face.

"I was gonna say pigheaded," Sam teased.

"Yeah, well that too," Dean acknowledged with a smirk.

He noticed a lilt playing across Mary's lips. She was happy to see Dean, but something else was there. Sam couldn't identify what it was.

"Cas made sandwiches." As Dean leaned down to put a plate in front of him, Sam caught dispirited shadow in his brother's face despite his apparent good humor.

"Where's yours?" Mary asked, gliding her eyes over her eldest son.

"I'm beat," he said, a smile plastered on. He avoided Sam's gaze. "I'm going to try for a little shuteye."

"You okay?" Sam asked, the question almost automatic when they had been through a difficult hunt. Though this time, it came a little late. He assumed his brother would be better than okay because their mother was friggin' alive.

"I'm swell," Dean answered, an equally rote reply that meant little to Sam. It's what Dean didn't say that caught the younger brother's attention.

"I'm just tired. And you two have 30 years of catching up to do." Dean gave their mother a look that lasted a beat too long. "I'll see you in the morning."

Mary nodded at him, her eyes not straying from him as he turned to leave. Sam moved his gaze form Mary to Dean and back to Mary when she jumped from her seat and called after her retreating son.

"Dean …."

The urgency in her voice caused him to turn back sharply, his brows drawn together. She approached him, lifting her arms in a shy, hesitant movement. She took in how how reticent he was to her gesture. When he opened his arms for her, she bounded into them, hugging him as if she would never see him again. Though her voice was soft, Sam could hear her whisper an 'I love you.'

Dean's face crumbled at the words and the facade he painted on evaporated. He folded deeper into her embrace.

Sam tried not to stare, but he was curious about what happened between them while he was missing. He knew how Dean felt about their mother. And the fact that Amara brought her back proved how much he needed her. He held her memory in a sacred place within himself, speaking of her only with reverence. Though Amara didn't give a rat's ass about Sam, but he too was reaping a huge benefit from her return.

For the past 33 years, Dean knew her in a way that Sam never did. Still, the way a child relates to his mother is so different from how an adult sees her. He considered that perhaps Mary Winchester was not exactly the mother Dean thought her to be.

Sam reflected on the past hour, where Dean was noticeably absent from their conversation. He feigned his good mood and Mary seemed overly concerned for him. Their time together was marred by his kidnapping. And Mary must have been overcome by abruptly jumping ahead 30 years. All of that was Dean's to handle because Sam wasn't there.

After about a minute, Mary pulled back from Dean, cradling his face into her hands. "Go get some sleep," she said. "I'll see you in the morning."

Dean looked oddly young in that moment as if years had just been washed from his face. Sam had never viewed Dean as a child even when he was one. For the first time ever, Sam saw a shadow of the innocence that was stolen from his brother when he was only four years old.

"Okay." Dean said, in a timid voice that was uncharacteristic for him. Then he offered her a bashful smile and disappeared into the hallway.

Mary turned her attention back to Sam. "I love you both very much."

"I know," Sam said, his mind still working what might have happened between them. "We _both_ love you."

Mary regarded him for a long moment. "The last time I saw you, you were just a baby. Now you're so tall." She choked out a sound that was between a laugh and a sob, stifling it with her fingers.

"Mom …."

She dropped her hand, letting it rest on her chest as if to punctuate how sincerity of her next words. "And handsome. And kind."

Sam flushed, embarrassed by the compliment. He discovered how Dean must have felt at her maternal attention. It was something that had been so absent from their lives, they didn't know how to receive it.

An awareness crept over him that, as miraculous as this was, suddenly having mom back would take a lot of adjustment — for Dean and for him. His tough, fearless brother had never easily accepted affection.

Mary left behind children and found herself in the midst of a couple of roughnecks who didn't know how to be sons. He lifted himself from the chair and closed the space between them. "I can't imagine what it's like for you to be here."

"It's just so hard thinking about all the years I missed."

"I'm sorry." The words were out before he realized why he said them. Of course he was sorry that she felt sad, but it was more than that. She died all those years ago to save him. Dean was without her because of him.

Her eyes glistened as she grasped why he apologized. "It's not your fault. You were innocent in all of this. I made the deal with the yellow-eyed demon. It all started with me."

 _Innocent?_ It had been a long time since Sam considered himself innocent in anything. He thought about the evil blood coursing through his veins because of that demon and he often wondered if it was burned away in the trials or still dormant within. He spent years believing he wasn't good enough, pure enough. Watching the pain wash over her face, he realized the blame didn't fall on either of them. "It was the demon's fault."

She shook away his words, and let her eyes fall from him.

"I think Dean expected me to be … different."

"Stop right there." Sam cut her off. After a breath, he eased his tone. "Dean would _never_ be disappointed in you. He adores you. He's guarded your memory for all of these years."

"That's what concerns me. The way he remembers me .…"

"Hey," Sam stopped her again. "What he remembers is a mother who loved him and took care of him. And left him too soon." Left the both of them too soon, but he didn't say that out loud. "Believe it or not, this isn't our first rodeo with resurrections. We've experienced a few. Each and every time, it set us back a little bit. Sometimes a lot. This is just going to take some time."

Her face went slack. "The life you boys have lived."

Sorrow spread through her face. It was a familiar look, a familiar feeling. Their lives were upended time and again by circumstances or by the power of some being who wanted to pull their strings.

What Amara did, as well-meaning as it was, would not come without a price. Nothing ever did. Maybe the price wasn't some wasn't some universal peril to all humanity. This time, it was a smaller — but no less significant — cost of two brothers learning that their mother didn't belong on the pedestal that they placed her the day that she died. She was imperfect — just like them. And like their father.

After all the mistakes he and Dean had made over the years, Sam understood that neither of them would fault their mother for being fallible. It wouldn't matter because the woman he saw was pretty great. Faults and all.

"You asked me to tell you about Dean," he said.

She nodded, lifting her eyes to meet her son's. He placed a light hand on her shoulder and guided her back to her chair. He sat beside her, a flutter in his chest betrayed his nervousness. He took a moment to organize he thoughts, because there was so much he could say about his brother, but not all of it would allay Mary's fears.

"Dad put a lot on him," Sam said, and he thought that might have been an understatement. "He didn't get a chance to be a kid. He looked out for me. Took care of me when Dad wasn't around — which was most of the time. He did everything Dad asked him to do while I questioned everything."

"I thought Dean would have been the rebel."

"Oh, he is. He has a complete lack of respect for authority." Sam let out a dry laugh. Over the years, he had run the gamut of how he felt about his brother's roguish, recalcitrant behavior —from admiration to annoyance and ended up with a mix of the two. "He drives too fast and drinks too much. He's way too proud of the fact that we were once wanted by the FBI. He can turn on the charm when it helps get information for a case, but more often, he uses it for a night with a beautiful woman."

Sam cut himself off as Mary blushed, realizing that hearing about her son's sexual escapades wasn't what she needed to hear. He shifted the conversation and his tone, letting his eyes settle on hers. "But when it comes to family, _nothing_ is more important to him. He's fiercely loyal and protective." He shrugged his head and amended, "O _ver-_ protective. We're his weakness. The one that the bad guys use against him again and again. He's made it his mission in life to save me."

"Save you from what?"

"Anything. _Everything_." Dean had saved him a hundred times over — his life, his soul and even saved him from his overwhelming grief and guilt. And Sam loved him for it, but it also caused the biggest rifts between them.

"We've had plenty of fights because of it. How much he's sacrificed for me. How far he's gone for me." Memories of disowning his brother flashed in Sam's mind. And Ruby and demon blood. Starting the apocalypse. Purgatory. Benny. The trials. Secrets. Lies. Betrayals. … And forgiveness. Always forgiveness.

"Even when I let him down." Sam paused to steady the quiver in his voice and pushed back the deluge of memories. He felt Mary's warm hand rest over his.

"He loves you," she said. "That's so obvious."

He felt the comfort in her touch and the affection in it. His lips stretched into a tenuous smile. He knew how Dean felt. Had always known, even at the worst times between them. But he couldn't be sure that Dean had always known how he felt.

He had practically disowned Dean after Gadreel. They weren't brothers, he said, and he backed up his harsh words by a cold indifference to him. But his love for his brother was still there, buried under mounds of pain and anger. It poked through when Dean was in trouble or in danger from whatever they were hunting at the time only to be covered again when he was safe.

And Dean accepted all of that rage and bitterness — albeit with a fair amount snark and quite a bit of hurt — and still believed in Sam enough to make amends by using his dying breath to say that he was proud of them.

Sam swallowed back the painful memory, unable to voice to his mother how long and how often Dean expressed his love in a tangible way that avoided too many words and too much sentiment. He could manage only a weak confirmation. "I know he does."

Mary's eyes never left his, and he felt uncomfortable by the scrutiny. He pulled his hand away, coughing into it, breaking the moment. His confession was meant to be a way to ease her mind, but she had been comforting him instead.

"The truth," he said, shifting the conversation again, "is that Dean and I have let each other down a few times, and we've had more than our share of fights. Dad certainly disappointed us sometimes. And maybe you will, too. But if that happens, we'll deal with it, just like we always have. Because we're family."

Mary's expression was unreadable as she took in all that Sam said. He wondered if she was already disillusioned with them. And for a split second, he considered that she didn't like what she saw in her sons. He worried that he had said too much and she would ask the wrong questions and learn all the terrible things he had done.

He didn't know what else to say so he waited.

"You look exhausted." Mary finally spoke. "I am, too. We should both get some sleep."

"Yeah, okay." And Sam was bone weary after the ordeal with Toni Bevell. But he was taken aback by his mother's sudden change in mood. His words, meant to be encouraging, caused her to sag further within herself. Fatigue dulled the blue of her eyes.

"Of course," he added when she was still silent.

He lead her to her bedroom, and waited until she stepped inside.

"Good night, Mom," he said, and she turned back and offered a faint smile.

"Good night, my boy."

When the door closed, Sam lifted his shoulders and dug for the energy to walk away from her. He was long past exhausted and needed to sleep. He spun around in the hallway, his eyes finding the door to his room, but couldn't quite make his way to it. He pivoted again to Dean's room, door shut tight but light seeping under.

He rapped his knuckles against it, and pushed it open even though he didn't get a response. Dean was sprawled across the bed, out cold as if it had fallen into it. The worry lines normally so prevalent on his face were erased by the sleep.

He focused his eyes on the rise and fall of this brother's chest, which somehow managed to ease the heaviness in his. He hadn't been able to put a name to the anxiety he felt. Now that everything was quiet, it hit him like a bolt. A part of him believed that he was still alone — the only survivor of a family cursed years before he was born. He feared that all of this was an illusion. Another form of torture by the Men of Letters.

He resisted the urge to shake his brother awake to make sure he was really here. He was within reach, alive and snoring lightly, his body language revealing a tension despite his slumber. Their mother was just a few feet away, troubled and struggling with being pulled from Heaven and her memories of a safe, loving family.

Resurrections were hard. And they didn't produce the perfect version of the person they loved. And that's how Sam knew that all of this was real. It wasn't a spell, or a trick or a dream. And he wasn't alone. Tomorrow would bring troubles of their own, but that was okay because he had his family back.

Sam switched off the light and eased the door, gave another glance to his mother's room before returning to his own bed, succumbing quickly to sleep.


	9. Chapter 9

_**AN: I've finally reached the end of this story. Mary still has a lot to work out in this chapter. Many thanks for taking the time to read. I hope you've enjoyed my version of Mary's return. All of your comments, follows and favorites have been wonderful.**_

* * *

 **Chapter 9**

Mary awoke to a darkened room, momentarily unsure of where she was. Then she remembered.

Resurrection. Adult sons. Dead husband. The world altered. At least her world.

Sheer exhaustion was the only thing that allowed her to sleep at all. The things Sam said, and those Dean would not say, weighed on her until she drifted off. And, she discovered, living underground in a bunker upset her circadian rhythms so she had no idea how long she slept.

She looked around for a clock to let her know of the time, and was frustrated by the lack of one. The only device she had was the phone Dean had given her, it's black screen useless on the bedside table.

Picking up the phone, she was surprised when the screen lit up, revealing that it was 10:42 a.m. on Friday, October 21, 2016. All the information she needed for the day was right in front of her, and she hadn't known. The small contraption was a stark reminder of how the world had changed — how her boys had changed. She had never felt so out of place in her life. She could understand and accept the existence of the supernatural easier than she did all the technology that was so common in this time period.

She ached to see her husband and her little boys. The sight of little Sammy staring at her from his crib, his eyes wide and curious, was still fresh in mer mind. And she could almost hear the sound of Dean giggling as she tickled him.

But her boys were adults now. Dean was hardened by the life he led, yet he sometimes revealed a vulnerability that made her heart twist in despair. So much bubbled within him, and Mary hadn't a clue how to reach it.

And Sammy wasn't so little anymore. He was taller than his brother and his father. It was if he needed all that height to contain all the thoughts that swirled through his head and all the emotions that came so easily to the surface. He looked at her with an awe that made her feel unworthy.

Rationally, she understood that these grown men were her sons. She knew she needed time to get to know them. But in her heart, she was pulled away from her young family, and she wanted them back.

This bunker seemed to be a metaphor for how she felt. Despite the promise of light — of life — just above the structure, she was trapped in a dark, hidden space that made it difficult to breath. Though every part of her screamed the need to escape, she would never be able to look at her sons' traumatized eyes to tell them that was leaving them again.

She breathed in and pulled her hand through her hair, grappling to gain enough composure to face them. She needed to find that place where she could fit in to this strange world. She once was a rebellious young woman determined to escape the life of hunting, willing to make any sacrifice, only to discover hunting was something that would never leave her.

The connection she made with her children was delicate at best. She was in their world and it was up to her to find a way to fit in. She needed to cut away anything from the past that prevented her from bonding with them. Her eyes were drawn to her reflection in the dim mirror of her long, wavy hair. As her fingers slipped through the unruly tresses, she decided this was as good a place to start as any.

An hour later, she was showered, dressed and sporting a much shorter style. She stepped from the confines of her room and felt a sudden jolt of nervousness that they wouldn't like her new appearance. It may be another change in her that created a bigger divide between her and her sons.

As she reached the library, she shrunk back when she saw Sam and Dean talking. She didn't intend to eavesdrop, but she had to see who they were when they didn't know she was around. She didn't want their best behavior. She wanted a glimpse of them unguarded and open.

She overheard them talking about the Men of Letters — they had backed off for now. Cas was keeping an eye on them. And they talked about her. Though they spoke in low tones, words like 'struggling' and 'adjusting' caught her attention. They were worried sons. As Sam said the night before, they were men who had fought to keep their family together. The least she could do was make that easier for them.

Steeling herself, she stepped into the room calling out a loud good morning. Their conversation reached a dead halt as they both hopped to their feet. She felt their eyes move to the top of her head.

"You cut your hair." The comment sounded abrupt coming from her oldest son.

"I thought I needed a change after 30 years." She relaxed as Dean graced her with a smile.

"It looks great, Mom."

Sam echoed his brother, telling her she looked very pretty. She smiled at the sweetness of the sentiment.

Then the both barraged her with questions. Did she sleep well? Was she comfortable? Would she like some coffee. Was she hungry.

"Do you like bacon?" Dean asked, then looked to his brother. "We have bacon, don't we?"

Sam nodded. "Bacon and eggs. But we can go out and get something else if you don't …."

"I love bacon and eggs." She was so stunned by their over exuberance, she blurted it out. They both stopped short, their mouths hanging open, holding in the words they had been about to say.

Dean broke the silence again. "Good. I'll go make you some."

She sighed and followed them to the kitchen. Dean rummaged around in the refrigerator, mumbling into the shelves about the bacon. Sam busied himself making coffee. And Mary just observed. They worked in sync, dividing duties without speaking.

They didn't seem at all bothered by preparing a meal for her, but she sensed an underlying tension. She ate the meal they prepared for her even though she wasn't hungry. The food felt like lead in her stomach, but that was better than hurting their feelings. They were trying so hard to please her.

When she insisted on cleaning up, they both watched her as if she would disappear at any moment. It unnerved her because she had considered doing just that — taking some time away to get her bearings again.

When she finished the dishes, she picked up a towel to wipe her hands while she thought of how to say what she needed to say. She opened her mouth to speak when the song _Smoke on the Water_ began to play seemingly from nowhere.

When Dean pulled out his phone, she realized it was the source of the music.

"Sorry. I gotta get this," he said as he walked away speaking into the phone. "Hey Jody."

"His phone plays music?" She asked Sam, but found his eyes locked on Dean as he talked. It seemed a call from this person was important enough to get attention from both of them.

"Uh, yeah," he said, absently. "That was a ringtone."

"Oh," she said, still not completely understanding.

"What's up?" Sam asked as Dean pocketed the phone.

"Alex and Claire have been touring some colleges and have run into a little trouble."

"Our kind of trouble?"

"Yeah. They spotted a vamp who who heard about Alex. They're a couple of hours from here, and Jody would feel better if they had a little back up."

"Who's Jody?"

The boys pulled their heads in Mary's direction. "She's a friend," Dean answered, not offering more details.

"A hunter?"

"She's a sheriff," Sam explained, "but we've helped her out before and she's helped up out. She's become like part of our family."

"I'm glad you boys have had someone close to you," Mary said, and she meant it. But she still felt a pang of jealousy that another person knew her boys better than she did. And she was important enough for them to stop everything to take the call. She decided not to ask about Alex and Claire because Dean was suddenly impatient.

"We owe her so I really should check into it," he said, which earned him a sharp look from Sam. Mary found it amazing that Dean and Sam could communicate so well without saying a word. A raise of Sam's eyebrows and a tilt of Dean's head conveyed a message to each other.

"Not alone," Mary said, more forcefully than she intended. They got along just fine without her for many years, but that didn't stop her from worrying about them.

"This is a milk run," Dean added, looking pointedly at Mary. "Let me take care of it and you two can stay here."

Sam sighed but didn't object. So she said what Sam wouldn't say.

"You'll need some back up."

"Nah." Dean blew her off the way he tried to when Sam was missing. And he obviously noticed the look she gave him. "I know you're a capable hunter. I'm sure you can take down a vamp with your eyes closed, but …."

"I don't want to go," Mary interrupted. "At least not this time. But Sam should go. I'll feel better knowing that you two are watching out for each other."

"We don't want to leave you alone, Mom. Not yet." Sam's voice of reason didn't try to cajole. He was just explaining, and he left little room for her to argue. But she didn't need much room. Dean already was sighing in defeat. They had already done this dance, and she could tell that he knew how this would end.

"I could use a little space to figure things out," she said. "Everything has happened so fast, I need to get my bearings again." And that was true. She needed some time, and they were hovering. But it wasn't the complete truth.

"But …." Sam attempted a retort, but his words fell away.

She expected one of them, probably Dean, to add on some conditions to her staying behind alone. But when he spoke, it was a plea spoken with such vulnerability that made the breath leave her body.

"You'll be here when we get back?"

Her heart broke all over again that they both waited for her to reassure them. "Yes, I'll be here."

Dean gave a curt nod, unconvinced that she would stay. Mary had a feeling he had been left behind a few too many times in his life. She met his gaze as he searched her face, apparently trying to decide if she meant what she said.

"Okay," he said. "It'll take a day. Maybe two, tops."

It took only a few minutes for them to pack up and head out. Mary gave them both a hug and told them to be careful. Part of her wanted to go with them to make sure they came home safely, but she had something to do that was more important.

First, she needed some transportation. As if on cue, Cas appeared in front of her.

She gasped, then sighed.

"Castiel, what are you …?"

"Dean called. He wanted me to make sure you'll be okay while they're away."

"Of course he did." She couldn't find it in herself to be annoyed.

"He said to give you space, but I will be here if you need anything."

"Thank you," she said, sincerely. "Actually, I could use your help."

oOoOoOo

As it turned out, the vampire on Alex's tale didn't know about her history. He was just looking for an easy meal.

The son of a bitch got what he deserved by going after the two young ladies who already had way too much experience with this kind of thing. They decapitated the first one in short order and spent the next day looking for and eliminating the nest.

Claire's hunting skills had improved dramatically since they last saw her, but Dean didn't know whether to be proud of her or dismayed by her knack for it. But the poor kid already had a crummy life, and being able to take down monsters might actually give her a purpose that she had been missing for awhile.

He and Sam sent them on their way, and called Jody to fill her in on the details and Cas to let him know Claire was fine and make sure everything was okay with Mary.

"What exactly did Cas say?" Sam asked.

"Nothing," Dean complained.

"He was silent," Sam quipped.

"Nothing useful."

"Did you want him to spy on Mom?"

"Well, no." Dean's weak response brought a pinched look from his brother. "Not exactly. I just wanted to know what she was doing while we were away."

"So you wanted him to spy," Sam said flatly. He didn't sound as disapproving as Dean would have thought. "Were you really afraid that she would leave?"

Dean shook away the question, not wanting to answer it. Part of him believed that nothing would drive her away. But he also knew that everyone he loved left him at one time or another. And maybe they had good reason, and maybe even some of them came back — he glided his eyes over to the brother who left him and returned a few times — but it still hurt like hell every time.

His lack of response was the only answer Sam needed. "She needs some time to adjust," he said. Dean caught the implication that he thought she might leave, too.

"Yeah," Dean muttered before turning up the music, signaling an end to the conversation. They drove in silence until they hit Lebanon. A red hue surrounded the setting sun, and Dean fought off the nerves that suddenly hit with a vengeance. To make matters worse, his little brother decided it was a good time to talk.

"You know that even if Mom needs a break, she'll be back," he said.

Dean grunted.

"I mean we've taken a break a few times, and look at us."

"Yeah, look at us. Such an picture of functionality here." Dean intended sarcasm but not the biting tone.

"I'm not saying we're poster boys for the perfect family, but a little space helped us a time or two."

"Well, we've had 33 years of space from Mom."

"She's had only a couple of days to get used to being back," Sam countered. "And everything has changed for her … especially us. We're the opposite of what she wanted."

Dean eased the Impala into the garage and cut the engine, but didn't move from the driver's seat. His eyes focused on the concrete walls as he kept a rigid grip on the wheel. Sam hit the sour note that had been troubling him since she returned — that he wasn't the son she wanted him to be. "Yeah, I know."

"She's a lot like you," Sam said, and Dean shook his head. She was better than him by a long shot. He was tainted — damaged goods. He had touched the darkness — figuratively and literally — a few times too many.

"Or rather, you're like her," the younger brother amended. "She's a fighter and she doesn't take no for an answer. And when something is bothering her, I think she needs time alone to figure things out … just like you."

Dean pondered the assessment of Mary, and decided that maybe his little brother had a point. He puffed up his chest just a little at the thought. The goods parts of him he got from Mary Winchester. "You're a little bit like her, too," he said and Sam grimaced.

"You mean because I kept leaving, and maybe she will too."

"I didn't say that."

"You were thinking it," Sam sulked

Dean wondered when this little brother developed the mentality of a 13-year-old girl. Rather than calling him on it, Dean answered evenly, "I was thinking that, like you, she has a deep sense of compassion. And that she can influence me in quiet ways when I don't even see it coming."

Sam stared, mouth gaping open and his eyes widened for a few beats before he shook off his shock. "Wow. Was that a compliment?"

"One may slip out now and then," Dean said, his gruff voice covering for an unwelcome surge of emotion. "Don't get used to it." He climbed out of the Impala before the scene could turn into a Hallmark moment.

Sam scrambled out of the car and rushed behind him. "If she's like me, she'll always comes back," he said to his brother's retreating back. Dean heard the comment and bit back the smile that tugged at this lips.

They both stopped short when they reached the top of stairway.

Dean pointed his head up and sniffed at an unusual aroma wafting through the bunker. "Do you smell that?"

"Yeah."

Dean pulled out his gun.

"What are you doing?" Sam scolded. "I don't think we should feel threatened by the smell of food."

"Nobody here cooks, so …."

"You're an idiot," Sam shot back as he lumbered down the stairs.

Dean shrugged and tucked the gun back in his waistband. If it was an attacker, at least they wouldn't die hungry.

The brothers found their way to the kitchen and found their mother surrounded by an assortment of salad ingredients which Dean hoped were meant for Sam.

"Mom?" Dean didn't intend to sound as dumbfounded as he did.

She dropped a handful of chopped tomatoes onto some lettuce and greeted them with a warm smile. "Did your hunt go smoothly?"

Sam was the first to utter a sound. "Uh … yeah."

"Good," she beamed and returned to her salad preparation. "I hope you're hungry."

"Is this like a Stepford Wife thing?" Dean murmured, and received a harsh "shhhh" from Sam. The eldest son turned his attention to his mother.

"I thought you said you can't cook."

"I said I _don't_ cook," Mary corrected. "I'm capable of preparing a meal when the need arises."

"Ah," Dean said. "So why are you cooking now?"

Sam glared at Dean.

Mary was unaffected by his sarcasm. "I thought you might by hungry and I wanted to do something nice for you. To make amends for the …," she paused as she searched for the right word. "Awkwardness."

"It smells great, Mom," Sam jumped in before Dean could comment further.

"It's only lasagna and salad," she said. "And pie for dessert."

Dean's eyes lit up like a Christmas tree.

"And I thought it would give us a chance to talk," she said.

The smile slipped off the older brother's face. "Is this like a last meal?"

"Dean …," Sam scolded.

Mary wiped her hands on a towel and approached her boys. "It is not a last meal but any means. It's a gesture."

Dean nodded, sufficiently chided for his cynicism. "It does smell great, Mom. Thank you."

"What did you want to talk about?" Sam said, breaking Dean's foray into a slightly better mood.

Mary hesitated, biting her lip, which made Dean's stomach plummet. He stole a glance to Sam, who looked a little green himself.

"Maybe we should talk later," Dean suggested, looking for any means necessary to prolong the inevitable. He just wasn't ready to let his mom go yet. Mary seemed to be peering straight into his soul.

"Let's talk now," she said. "Please sit down."

Sam immediately lowered himself onto one of the kitchen stools, but Dean remained standing, stubbornly crossing his arms over his chest. He felt like a petulant teenager, but he kept the stance despite her pleading eyes.

She sighed and sat down by Sam, looking up at her supposedly adult son. He thought that perhaps her missing their adolescent years wasn't such a bad thing after all.

"I love you boys very much," she started. Sam started to speak, but Mary silenced him with a touch to his knee.

"I love you more than you know," she continued, "but I miss my little boys."

Dean closed his eyes, bracing for the impact. The moment she would admit that she was disappointed in them. That they were not the sons she wanted them to be.

"I've been grieving that loss since I've been back."

"We know it's hard, Mom," Sam said. Dean discovered he couldn't speak because of the tightness in his throat. He dropped his arms and knelt in front of her.

"I've been bitter because of all those precious years I missed with you. I've been searching for someplace to lay that blame."

Sam shifted on the stool, his eyes cast down. Dean knew that his brother felt the responsible for being the one marked by the yellow-eyed demon. For letting the darkness out. And for whatever other misplaced guilt he could lay on himself. But it wasn't Sam's fault. It was his. Amara brought her back to reward him. And he accepted the gift with a conceited gratitude because he thought Mary would be as happy as he was. He had been foolish to believe that this — that anything in their lives — would go smoothly.

He, too, lowered his gaze as Mary's soft voice cut through the condemnation he and Sam put on themselves.

"I can never get back those years I missed. But I needed to fill in some of the blanks. So I went back to Lawrence."

Again, Sam found a way to say that Dean couldn't. "We would've taken you, Mom. You don't have to figure this out alone."

"I asked Cas to take me. I know how difficult it has been for you to talk about your past — your upbringing. All the years you've spent hunting." Her eyes met Sam's before they searched for Dean's. "You both tend to pull away when the conversation gets too painful."

Dean knew he was guilty of that. He didn't know that Sam had been as well. Dwelling on the past served no useful purpose, in Dean's mind. What's done is done. That's how he had gotten through the crap that just kept coming.

But as he watched the misty shine of her blue eyes, he understood how shutting down kept his mother at arm's length. A quick glance to Sam showed the same revelation. Revisiting 30 years of crap wouldn't be easy, but he'd do it if that's what she wanted.

He forced the words through his dry throat. "We'll tell you anything. What do you want to know?"

"I want to know all of it," she said, and Dean felt the blood drain from his face. There had been too many painful memories. Too many losses. Too many mistakes. Too many times when the only option was to choose between something bad and something worse. Too often all of the bad clouded what was good.

"I want to know everything about you. But I don't want make you dredge up unpleasant memories. So you don't have to tell me anything. Or you can tell me some of it. Just the good. Or just the bad. You can tell me things as you get to know me better — or you can tell me nothing at all."

"I don't understand, Mom," Sam said. Dean spared a glance to his brother. The confusion on the younger sibling's face mirrored how the eldest felt. And still, Dean expected the worst. Their mother couldn't adjust to being back without knowing about their complicated, screwed-up lives but she wouldn't be able to fully accept them if she did know.

"It was in Lawrence that it all became clear to me," Mary said. "I was standing in what used to be Sammy's nursery. It belongs to a young woman who's in college now and room is empty most of the time. Her mother told me how you two saved her family a long time ago, and she's often wondered how you are."

"Poltergeists," Dean said, remembering the emotionally grueling hunt. He thought at the time that was the worst they would face — going back to where it all started. It turned out to be a cakewalk compared to the things that came later.

Neither brother mentioned the circumstances that took them to Lawerence. The vision Sam had. Their belief that the demon who killed their mother was responsible for what was happening in that house. Since Dad was nowhere to be found, Dean had to step up — for Sam and for that family. It took everything he had in him to even walk into the house.

"I was standing in your room, Sam, remembering that night. And I realized that, no matter what, I would have missed all of those years with the both of you because …," she pinched her lips together to stop their quiver. "Because I _died_. Dead mothers don't get to see their children grow up. And I have been given a gift to see you boys again at all." Mary paused to steady her voice and blink back her tears.

"So," she said, swiping the moisture from her face, "no more feeling sorry for myself. What's in the past can stay there. I don't have to know any of it to see how much you've been through. What I do know — all I need to know — is that you are strong, caring, decent men."

As Sam shook his head, Mary placed a hand on his cheek. "What that evil, yellowed-eyed monster did to you may have changed how you lived your life, but he did not — could not — change what a good person you are. I can see straight through to your heart, Sammy. And it's as pure as any I've ever seen."

With those words, Sam cracked. She touched on the one burden Dean could never shoulder for his little brother. To see their mother so tenderly brush away those tears brought a swell of emotion in Dean as he realized that no matter how hard he tried — and he did try — he couldn't assuage those fears in Sam the way she did.

Dean considered that perhaps Amara, when choosing what he needed the most, saw something more in him than the decades old wound of losing his mother much too young. He needed his little brother to be okay. But a part Sam still considered himself tainted because of what happened to him that night 33 years ago.

As he watched the scene between his mother and his brother, he realized that only she could relieve Sam of that curse.

Dean closed his eyes to block his own tears that threatened. The gesture turned out to be futile when he felt his mother's warm hand rest on the side of his head.

"The load you've carried all these years, Dean, you don't have to carry it alone anymore. And as long as I live, I will never leave you."

Dean turned his teary gaze to acknowledge his mother's words with a simple nod.

"Okay then," she said, rising for her seat. "Now that's settled, so let's start this new family time with some comfort food."

oOoOoOo

Mary rose from the table to give Dean and Sam time to compose themselves. Comfort would better come from the food she prepared than from a hovering mother they barely knew. By their reactions, she saw that Castiel had been right. The things he said to her as they stood in the middle of what used to be Sam's nursery gave her the insight she needed to reach out to her offspring. The trip to Lawrence had been as helpful as it was emotional.

 _She took a hesitant step into the room where she died. Sammy's nursery. It bore no resemblance to the space she remembered. It was full of florals and purple and mementoes of a teenaged girl rather than a bouncing baby boy._

 _She glanced back to the angel who accompanied her._

" _It's nothing like I remember," she said._

" _Much has changed," he acknowledged._

" _This was supposed to be where my boys grew up. Where they learned to play baseball or soccer or maybe learn to play an instrument." She paused, her brow furrowed in distress. "I don't even know if they are musical."_

" _Dean enjoys listening to music and sometimes sings along."_

" _Everyone does that," she said with a sigh. "I just don't know how to reach them."_

" _The answer is in this room," Castiel said._

 _She turned to face him, a puzzled look spread over her features. "How?"_

 _The angel peered around the space, his eyes resting on an empty spot on the ceiling. "Long before they were born, a plan was set for them. It was put in motion here."_

 _Mary watched his compassionate, sad eyes as he spoke. "They were chosen to be vessels in a battle that was foreordained years before the world ever heard of a Winchester."_

 _His mouth tilted upward with unmistakable affection for her sons. "They turned out to be stronger, more resilient and more righteous than any of the angels could have imagined." Just as quickly, his expression turned solemn. "But they each carry with them a deep, deep pain that started right here in this room."_

 _He aimed a piercing gaze toward Mary. "If you want to help your sons, you need to understand how that night impacted them. One little boy experienced his first of many profound losses. It was the first time someone he loved left him. And a helpless baby was marked by evil and set on a course that he didn't want and one for which he still seeks redemption."_

 _Mary raised her head to the spot on the ceiling just above where Sammy's crib once sat. She could still feel the flames licking around her body. She would gladly give her life to spare her children the life they lived. Her death didn't help them but perhaps her life could._

So she cooked the only meal she knew how to make, and hoped they liked it. And she said the things she needed to say to them. By their reaction, she knew they heard it and accepted her words.

She stood to serve the lasagna before she completely fell apart. She was still sad and still grieving the loss of her young family. And she still felt out of place in their lives, but she finally understood her purpose and why she had been brought back. She needed to help heal her sons. Even if they continued hunting — and she had a hunch they would — she wanted them to find a sense of peace in their lives. And if they could, so could she.

"I hope you're hungry," she said as she set the steaming casserole dish between them.

Sam sniffed and cleared his throat. "Dean's always hungry," he joked, giving a wink to his brother.

"True that," Dean answered, shaking off his emotion and letting a grin rest on his face.

Oddly enough, the smile she felt tugging at her lips was real because the room was less tense. She felt less awkward and her boys were more relaxed — at least they were getting there.

"So Mom," Dean said, his mouth full of lasagna. He swallowed and adopted a serious tone of voice, but the sparkle in his eyes gave him away. "I think there's something you need to know about Sammy."

Sam looked up from his plate, wide eyes glaring at his brother.

"He has this pathological fear of clowns."

"Dean …," the younger sibling chided.

"Well, Sammy. I think she needs to know that you lost a fight to a couple of clowns." The comment was followed by another mouthful of food.

"I didn't lose," Sam complained.

The laughter that burst from Dean's mouth surprised Mary. "He was covered in glitter and seltzer. I don't call that a win."

"At least I'm not afraid of flying."

"I'm not afraid to fly. I just prefer to drive."

"Right. That's why we drove to a case in Alaska. It took use almost four days to get there from Washington. That was after two days of driving from Sioux Falls. I'm just glad it was summer at the time."

"Beautiful scenery, Sammy."

Mary sat back and listened to them bicker, and appreciated the conversation for what it was. They were trying to tell her about their lives. Nothing too heavy. Nothing painful. Just a some simple hunts and a few moments of levity.

They might talk about the tough stuff eventually. She hoped they would, but she wouldn't ask. She might even reveal her secrets. And she had a quite a few. One thing she and her children had in common was the many regrets that still haunted them at night.

But for now she would laugh at their jokes and enjoy being a part of this wonderfully complicated family.

And if it ever came to it again, she would die to protect them.

* * *

 _The End_


End file.
